


gorgeous (it makes me so mad)

by resurrectdead



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Banter, Barista Harry, Dirty Talk, Flirting, Good BDSM Etiquette, M/M, Sexual Tension, Smut, Strangers to Lovers, Tattoo Artist Louis, another suggested, good friendships, why was it suggested I'm so predictable
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-05-22
Packaged: 2020-03-09 18:03:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 29,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18922258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/resurrectdead/pseuds/resurrectdead
Summary: Harry’s a coffee barista with nothing really going on for him except for the occasional flirting with,some, particularly hot male customers. But when a new guy starts coming in, he suddenly doesn’t know what to make out of any single situation anymore.or: Harry is a hot mess. Liam is a brilliant roommate. Niall is a wise lesbian co-worker. Clifford is a good boy. Louis is a bad boy. Circumstances are bizarre.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sunshine_louie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunshine_louie/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You really thought I was dead huh? ;))
> 
> I started this fic shortly after harry decided to say ”gay vodka”, which you’ll see the pun for - but I never posted it. Kinda just, abandoned it. GASP. So, I figured, it’s been about a year since my last fic, let's celebrate it. Did I wait for the anniversary, you ask? Slightly.
> 
> Anyway, here it is, and remember: this is all for laughs and entertainment. No harm intended! Only puns!! 
> 
> Have an ace time, thanks for clicking in, see you on the other side!!!

Most customers at 10AM on tuesdays are students needing a coffee rush to then burst off to class, or elders, the unattractively old kind that come in to look at biscuits and then leave. 

They’re not usually Harry’s age. With a tank top and a snapback. And hot. 

”Hey,” says the guy, voice so high and lovely and _by god_ , it’s like all air is sucked out of Harry right at that moment and he’s sure everyone can see. See how he’s just about another good piercing blue-eyed look away from deflating against the cash register like an untied balloon. ”Can I have an iced large?”

Well, _fuck_. 

He’s seen him before, obviously, he has, but that’s kind of the whole thing because it’s been when he’s been working rush hours and only handling the beverages in ultra speed - and not the customers and the cash register - peeking over the counter to see an _achingly_ handsome stranger with that complimentary pang of extreme _turned-on-ness_ , only worsened by a solid 83% or so when he’d notice how he was looking _right back at him_ from the other end of the counter. 

However. He’s never seen him in full HD. He’s never got to smell his cologne. 

He thought they were doomed to never ever get the opportunity to talk, and now here Harry is fumbling with the buttons on the cash register because he’s suddenly too warm and flustered to work. Honestly, can he call the manager because of a malfunction in his brain due to _customer sexiness_? Or is that just plain idiotic?

Harry wants to: scream. That’s all that’s for certain, in this economy, and in his utter, complete, sexual distress. 

See, Harry’s used to talking to customers. He’s used to flirting, almost quite good at it, even. 

But now. 

Ah, now, it’s the scruff, maybe. The bad boy scruff and the tattoos and the skateboard under his arm and the cigarette behind his ear, making him absolutely unable to even _think_. Maybe. 

Or maybe it’s how soft his lips look, the amble curves of his waist half-assedly concealed with that baggy top, and how his voice is like sweet and scratchy hard candy; it’s honestly hard to tell, but he definitely wants it dripping over himself, or something.

Also. _Large_. Wow okay wonder what else is _large_. 

Harry hums, nods. Even though this guy is currently making his life _extremely stressful_ \- couldn’t even specify his order for what type of drink he even wants ( _he can’t believe he’s done this_ ) - Harry is clearly the professional here. If he wants it straight up black, so be it, but let’s use the professional lingo first. ”Straight?”

The guy’s fishing up his wallet, long fringe falling into his eyes until he pushes it back with his yellow-tinted aviator sunglasses. ”Nah, mate. Gay.”

Wh-

_What._

”What?” Harry utters, because he genuinely can’t think he heard him right, or he didn’t say to him what he thought he just did. The guy looks up from under his eyelashes, and why the hell are even his eyelashes lovely? Why. Are. They. ”God, um, I mean straight black,” Harry corrects, stumbling over his words. ”Large iced black coffee? Oh.”

The most unacceptable thing happens then. He _smirks_. ”Right.” He takes his card out, leans his hand on the counter. ”Good to know though, innit? And I’ll have it with a dash of milk, if that’s alright, thanks.” He cocks an eyebrow. ”Do I insert my card?”

Fuck _off_. 

Harry gestures wildly to the cash register. He has to _leave_. ”What’s the name then?” he asks (clearly not blushing), already turning away (on legs he hopes to god won’t betray him now). 

”Go with Tommo,” the guy announces as he pays the sum, which is clearly not a real first name and Harry’s suddenly _furious_ because he won’t be able to Facebook-stalk him. Who does that? Who is this absolutely gorgeous dickhead? He’s going to have to tell Liam all about it when he gets home. In fact, he might just never shut up about it ever again. 

He hums once more, albeit maybe just a bit more _pressed_ -sounding, then escapes to the coffee machine and makes the guy a cup of black on the rocks with a little splash of whole milk (Harry wants to banter with him how it’s better without, like he does when he sees moderately cute boys with very good bodies who seem to generally care about their good health, but he doesn’t think he can speak right now without failing miserably because nothing about this man happens to be _moderate_ ). 

He grabs the black marker pen and writes _Tommo_ in perfectly cursive letters. 

When he puts it away on the bar, the one for pick-ups of orders, he scans the room for a messy-haired punk with heavily tattooed forearms and is about to call the name out when he realises, he’s already there. He’s already right there, leaning against a wall like three feet from Harry, and he feels his eyes grow large as saucers. 

He’s still _smirking_ , and it’s not fair. He walks up, grabs his coffee, making deep eye contact with Harry the whole time and murmurs ”Have a good day” before he swirls around, leaves the coffee shop and Harry’s just looking at that bum of his and how it moves in those ripped skinnies when he walks, how perfectly deliciously bubble-butt round it goes when he bends over once outside to untie a black, curly-haired dog from the bike stand, which happily struts off with its sexy owner now skateboarding down the pavement holding a cup with Harry’s handwriting on it. 

Harry’s stuck in here in a sweaty work outfit with his long hair tied up in a lazy, messy bun, and none of this is fair. 

It’s very hard to concentrate for the rest of the day. 

(His thoughts kind of keep wandering back to _kitten lips_ and _doggy style_.)

 

 

He lands face-first on the sofa and almost knees Liam straight in the dick. 

But wait, _straight_ and oh my _god_ suddenly he’s reminded himself of it again, when will this suffering end? He groans exasperatedly, just as Liam yelps loudly at how he suddenly appeared out of nowhere. 

”Watch it!” he squeals, sinking his hips into the sofa so deep it’s like he has a hidden superpower for it. Liam Payne, The Incredible Crotch-Protect Boy. Hm, yeah, he can picture that. ”The hell is wrong with you then?”

Liam was just sat peacefully browsing TV channels in their lounge/kitchen/apartment entrance, bless him, but still. Harry groans again, face pressed into a cushion. He’d be kicking his legs like a child having a tantrum too but they’re still in Liam’s lap, still _dangerous_ ™ and Liam might just file a lawsuit against him if he doesn’t displace his body right this second. Harry’s not in the mood for that. 

So he rolls over onto his back, feet sliding off the sofa and landing on the floor with a thud. His upper body stays strewn over the other half of the sofa like a thrown-away ragdoll. 

Liam blinks at him. ”Rough day?”

Harry throws his arm dramatically over his eyes. ”Kind of.”

Liam turns the volume on the TV down, probably looking concerned like he does. He pats the spot beside him. ”If you’re going to be a good boy you can sit with the adults.”

Harry wants to be the good boy for a bad boy. Wow there’s so much he wants to do. 

He sighs as he crawls back up the sofa, sinks down next to Liam and stares blankly at the TV. Who even watches sports? Okay, admittedly, football players have the best asses in the world, but what kind of joy could you get from _ice hockey?_ Barbarians in sweaty clothes like 20 times their size. Harry is so very tired. 

”There was just…” He stalls, unsure of how to continue. What even was today? Or rather, what even was those 5 minutes tops when his bones felt like actual liquid? ”A cute boy, whatever.”

In his peripheral vision, Liam’s furrowing his brow. ”Was he _very_ cute?” 

Harry would like to glare at him. ”No, he was not very cute, Liam, and this is why I’m having a crisis.”

Liam stills, then hums in understandment. Which is sweet. No but it really is. Get you a straight friend who cares about your non-straight shenanigans, ladies and gentlemen; Harry owes him the world sometimes just for sticking around. 

Harry stuck around this past month of Liam wallowing because of his girlfriend’s breakup with him, anyway. Not that they were officially together, and like, she kind of made it clear she wanted to focus on uni and not dating, what with the whole, she was completely focused on uni and not who she was dating-thing, and Liam just kept on waiting for her to text him back. For hours. Days. He thinks it might have gotten to 2 weeks before he got the hint. 

Liam’s just a puppy too pure for this world like that.

And now Liam’s thinking deep and hard, Harry can tell. He’s wisened up to make very good decisions in these trying times. 

He eventually softens. ”You wanna grab dinner?” he asks kindly, and Harry honestly almost forgets his struggles. ”Bury your sorrow in a pad thai?”

It’s not actually sorrow, is the thing; mostly sexual frustration, although maybe this is indeed buried in the sorrow that this handsome guy he’s spoken to literally once isn’t his and he can’t possibly know when he’ll see him again and this makes him absolutely mad. 

He should probably let it go. 

He probably won’t. 

”Can we order home?” Harry asks, pulling his knees up and burrowing into Liam’s side.

Liam’s already reaching for his phone and Harry smiles into his shoulder. He loves his wise puppy. Very, very much. 

 

 

Wednesday hasn’t brought much other excitement than seeing a dove cutely peck pastry crumbs outside the open door to the shop, and the little girl that came and asked Harry if he wanted her lollipop because she had two and she didn’t need two because she didn’t want to risk the tooth trolls moving in and she really liked his long hair and the inked mermaid on his arm. 

Harry’s busy cherishing its cherry goodness when a much familiar sexy-as-all-hell lad appears outside the window to tie down a fluffy, black dog to the bike rack. 

He pops the lolly out of his mouth with comically large eyes. 

Because the only thing that could beat a low-scooping tank top is obviously to wear no shirt at all; _obviously_.

It’s only logical, he tells himself, frantically, watching the tattoos shift with his muscles flexing. The sun’s hot, the wind is still; it’s bloody _summer_ and all, and he’s seen girls in crop tops and bikini tops and skirts so short he’s already counted a dozen female buttcheeks too many. 

(This guy could rock some booty shorts. He should. Harry could lend him his, they might just fit without ripping.)

He almost chokes on air or maybe some cherry goodness fluid when he’s suddenly in front of him again, skimming the menu up top. Look at those eyelashes. Look at that _jaw_. The Greek Gods are _quaking_ and so is Harry imagining tracing his fingers along the sharp edge of it, the slightly rounded slope just below his ear. 

He just, kind of, wants to discover everything that contrasts, and everything that goes together so well. His slight definition of abs and the cutely pudgy tummy, the flamboyance in his body language despite how hard his exterior seems. 

_Tommo_ looks down again, finds Harry’s gaze with some sort of sudden realisation that comes with a complimentary sick satisfaction. Sick, because now Harry can’t even pretend like he didn’t remember him and Harry’s presence in his day didn’t matter; it did. It so did. He mattered. He’s thought about him. 

Harry tucks his lollipop into his cheek and tries to not let it show how he’s at least four times as ecstatic to see this guy again as well. 

”Hey,” the guys greets with huge, sparkling eyes, and it’s already too much and Harry needs a cute-boy vacation. 

”Hey, you,” he answers back, tucks hair behind his ear because he is a _mess_. But he can’t help but preen under the attention. It’s like, his favourite thing in the world. ”We meet again.”

Now the guy is stood repressing a most smug smile. He seems thrown off track by his own emotional response, which is so fucking _rude_ to Harry’s already existing _lust_ for him, how dare he be _adorable_? ”You come here often, Coffee Boy?”

And now, pick-up lines. Not fair. Foul play, where’s the judge? He’s tripped him and now Harry has _fallen for him_ , ugh what the hell. 

He shrugs a shoulder. ”Every day this week,” he answers just a little bit awkwardly, picks at his chipped, still sparkly nail varnish. ”Come in again tomorrow for more of our fine refreshments.”

An almost impressed nod comes his way. ”Ay up. Good lad.” 

He speaks in such a thick accent Harry can’t even begin to try and place. Something northern, something sweet. Something he might have associated with things like chavs being lads and making a mess, but with him, he just loves it. Loves it with endearment, and with like, something else, clearly. 

He kind of just needs some more of it for an unknown amount of time into the future, speaking it in most _unknown_ circumstances. (Harry’s kind of very into being topped, though - just a side note, nothing at all to do with how he wants to be bossed around by said northern accent.)

”Alright then,” the guy continues, and Harry readies himself to actually get work done like he’s supposed to. He’s a working class hero if he’s ever seen one. ”I’ll have one of them chicken sandwiches to go, please.”

Harry jabs it into the register, nodding, plays absently with the lolly in his mouth. He has to be polite unfortunately, because this is just a regular customer and Harry isn’t sure if their policy excludes the sodding attractive ones, no matter how much he’d like to impolitely jump-attack him and wrap his legs around his middle. Like, that’s probably unprofessional. 

Probably. Maybe. 

It’s just that, his stubble has such a bad boy vibe today, and it’s also just that, if he would be consensually up for it he could really go with that stubble rubbing the sensitive inside of his thighs right about now. Or like, not. Whatever. Psh, Harry’s calm, course he is. 

”That would be all?”

He opens his wallet, something skull-themed reading _The Misfits_. ”A coffee like yesterday.”

Harry stupidly doesn’t have to ask; he remembers the order. That’s not normal. That’s just embarrassing. ”Course.”

He stays there as Harry turns to manage the coffee machine, saunters slowly behind him to catch up to the bar by the time he’s done. Harry hears every step. ”So I’ve been thinking,” he ponders suddenly, and Harry spikes his ears, ”would you tell me your professional opinion on something?”

Harry doesn’t share much of his personal opinions and such. He likes keeping a mysterious distance to avoid being boxed into something he’s not. 

”Yeah,” he answers immediately, then curses himself inwardly. ”I mean, maybe. Maybe.” Fucking shit gosh darn it oh my god. ”What’s your concern?”

He puts the cup out for the guy, reaches for a sandwich in the glass cupboard when he speaks. ”Does size really matter?”

He almost hits his head on the ceiling of said cupboard. 

When he levels him again, he has to actually consciously remind himself what environment he’s in, what’s socially acceptable and not (such as, you don’t wildly start begging to kiss a stranger in the middle of a work shift, okay, you just _don’t_ ) and also to not squeeze the sandwich to death in his hand. 

”In wedding rings,” he answers, scandalised. 

The guy barks a laugh. His face softens as he raises his cup in the air like a cheers, but that doesn’t help Harry in the slightest. ”I meant these,” he says, and Harry is about to fucking choke to death on his lollipop. ”Is getting a large worth it?”

”Oh,” Harry answers miserably. 

”Could have been an analytical one, there, or a good sale opportunity.” Harry gives him the sandwich and notices meanwhile how his eyes flick to his sparkly nail varnish. ”But good answer. You pass.”

Harry brings his hands back and sees his gaze follow all until he flicks his eyes back up at his. This is when he, to his horror, realises he’s been staring at his face again. ”Pass what?” he blurts out in a breath, furrow between his brows, and he’s met with a smirk. 

”Aw, lighten up, Coffee Boy,” he muses, but whatever else he was meant to say gets interrupted by another customer walking up to the cash register. 

Harry’s still absolutely miserable when he trails his eyes back for him once he’s walked back to where he’s meant to be, but the bell chimes over the door and out he goes. Shirtless and tan. Big butt and all. 

What an absolute _tease_.

”Can I have a skinny latte?” the new, admittedly handsome guy behind the counter asks, and Harry hums through a sigh, eyes on the machine. 

”Dairy or soy?”

”Just regular milk, thanks.”

He looks out the window and somehow meets the mysterious Tommo’s eyes, piercingly blue, and he hitches on his breath just a little. ”I could recommend it without,” Harry murmurs ritually, following his gaze, ”’cause it’s like, good for you, and… you know.” His neck might snap off, so he looks back ahead, then trail down his body cheekily. ”You look like you care for your body. Very good build there, mister.”

He’s met with a charming, toothy grin, and he should be celebrating he might get a cute future-one-night-stand’s number today, but instead he feels nothing much for it except for wishing it was someone else he was able to act so sly and confident with. 

Sigh. Bigass fucking sigh. 

 

 

Liam comes home with a new tattoo, which is kind of cool. But other than that. 

”I _hate_ my _life_.”

Liam frowns at him in the hallway, barely done toeing his sneakers off. ”Okay.”

Harry throws his arms out helplessly, legs in the air where he’s lying. ”The guy came in again, and I’m just like. I can’t even _talk_ , Liam, I can’t even _breathe_.”

Liam carefully rolls his sleeve up to not brush against the plastic on his hand, moving to the fridge to look for edible things. ”My condolences?” The light when he opens the door washes a sheen over the entire kitchen area, and Harry groans all the way from the sofa. ”Don’t appreciate the eye-candy anymore?”

”I want to _eat the candy_ ,” Harry japs and tosses a pillow in the air. ”But I can’t, because I can’t like, fuckin’, _function_.”

Liam rustles with the cutlery before he sits down in the sofa next to Harry’s legs with a yoghurt. ”It’ll pass,” he tells him sagely. ”I’m sure, man. It’s just nerves. If it’s meant to happen it will. You know this.” He opens the wrapper and digs his spoon in. ”You don’t want to hear about what just happened to me at the studio then?”

Harry does. He’s just being a baby. 

He groans. 

”Sit up or I’ll dump this yoghurt on you.”

Well, Liam’s always one to know how to motivate Harry. 

He sits up and scowls. ”Tell me. Tell me or I’ll eat the yoghurt.”

”You wouldn’t, it’s not low-fat,” Liam says matter-of-factly, and Harry wrinkles his nose making Liam laugh heartily. ”But listen! So, I think I’m there for a bulky old guy, right. Some biker, I was sure, yeah? Since it’s not in a posh place or anything.”

”Darling,” Harry drawls, ”don’t judge a book by its cover.” 

”I’m not done, listen here. Turns out I was blessed by angels, because this guy was about our age I’d say, and so bloody cool too. I swear we talked the entire time through, like about Batman and all. And look at this! It’s so good!”

Harry inspects his tattoo under the plastic and gooey bled ink, beautifully shaded and dark. ”That actually is.” It’s a very good rose to be completely fair. ”Wow. How beautiful.” 

Liam proper beams. ”Thanks, bro.”

”Really love this one. Now, the important question is,” Harry points to him, ” _did_ you get his number?”

And if Harry didn’t know any better, he’d maybe think Liam was blushing. ”No. I mean, not yet, why?”

Liam likes girls, so it doesn’t matter. Platonic love is very much real. ”You should hang out, right? If you have a lot in common.” He pauses to admire the tattoo again. ”Damn, I want one too now.”

Liam smiles widely. ”It’d be a friendship bracelet for life,” he says, and feeds Harry a spoonful of yoghurt. 

Harry is in fact a baby and so he accepts it tongue-first, almost never getting it in because Liam starts giggling too hard. Liam makes jokes about his landing-board tongue for the next ten minutes or so as they watch TV together and Harry regrets allowing such unhealthy, sugary things to be in the house at all. 

 

 

Harry slams the door way too loud for a deserted locker room at 9AM. His face scrunches up and he takes just a brief moment of silence for 1) his ears and 2) his bed left all alone and cold and empty at home.

And then another moment for himself, plain and simple. 

”Awfully chipper today!” Niall says when she’s suddenly behind him and he nearly jumps out of his skin, or at least the gross trainers he now wears for fear of breaking his feet having to stand all day (okay so another moment of silence for his gold boots put away in the locker). 

Niall is the very cheerful (very _loud_ ) and very lesbian (very… _proud_ ) co-worker of Harry’s, who comes in wearing loose tank tops and a bandana tied around her short hair to change into the absolute dull and off-white atrocity which is their work outfit. She’s also ultimately the only person who understands Harry. She’s like his Irish fairy godmother. 

She jabs a finger in his side to tickle him and he squirms with a giggle. ”Dog ate your homework, laddie?”

A _boy_ ate his _heart_. ”No.” Uh, stole. Definitely _stole_ , he stole his heart. ”Just like, thinking about…” He pauses and narrows his eyes, ”politics.”

He turns around to her and is faced with a frown. ”Politics?”

So he waves her off. ”I was trying to sound intellectual. Isn’t that a smart thing? To be spontaneously pondering?”

”Not 5 minutes before work it isn’t, you absolute nutter,” she chokes out through giggles and slaps his arm for no apparent reason. She’s so violent. ”Consider the philosophy of the bean instead.”

”Philosophy,” he echoes, back to narrowing his eyes. ”The bean.”

”That’s more like it.” She turns and nearly slaps him in the face with her tiny blonde ponytail. ”Turn that frown upside down and get out here.”

There goes another moment of silence for his sanity. Time to hate his life for 5 hours. 

 

 

”On the go somewhere?”

The guy is standing with a backpack on when he meets Harry’s eyes with a grin. ”Hello to you too,” he replies, and Harry just cannot stop himself from smiling. Knots in his stomach dissolve into fluttering butterflies. _Ugh_. ”Can I have my regular, please?”

He’s got pins stuck to his backpack, a rainbow one Harry sees quite clearly, and some he can’t make out. One is a crossed out nazi symbol, which is always a plus. Love when hot guys don’t support the Holocaust and that. Kind of a deal-breaker.

Harry nods, presses some buttons on the machine and then tilts his head. ”That’s a sandwich included now?”

He chuckles, takes out his wallet like they’re so used to this now. Like this is just, customary, ordinary, but Harry’s still exploding from the inside out because he's just that gorgeous, ordinarily. ”You pay this close attention to _all_ customers?” 

He pays the sum as Harry takes a paper-wrapped sandwich out of the glass counter for him. ”I don’t,” he says honestly, and like, that really wasn’t as subtle as it sounded in his head at all. 

Neither is the smirk smeared on his entire face, and when he looks up it’s nothing but mirrored and he sees it with a pang of arousal. Oh no. 

He puts the sandwich down, the guy cocks an eyebrow, but then they just kind of like. Smirk silently at each other for a moment. A moment which feels entirely too hot, hell and flames - are the ceiling fans off? Is this white noise just in Harry’s head?

Oh _no._

Then the guy shrugs. ”Well. Got a busy schedule,” he replies easily, ”you know how it is.” 

It’s just that, Harry doesn’t. He works here parttime and the other part of his time is spent in his shared apartment watching TV or reading old books or lying with his head hanging off the sofa to scroll through his phone. Sometimes he goes out with Liam, mostly not. Liam has dating life, after all, and Harry has…

Well. Harry has a job. 

Harry has… a collection of LP records, a gym membership he barely uses anymore, and some utilities for baking. He owns most the apartment’s cutlery and his wardrobe is quite the impressive thing when he’s not forced to sweat in an apron for hours on end. Harry also has no concept of the words ’busy schedule’ when put together. 

”Sure,” he says. ”I totally have a life.”

His eyes are definitely seeing right through him. ”You Netflix and chill, mostly?”

”Without the hidden meaning,” Harry explains with a chuckle, seesawing his hand in the air. He swears he has actual life-aspirations, really. ”Just chill with my roommate. Do _you?_ ” he adds through a lopsided smile. 

”If only I was so lucky.” He grins before he narrows his eyes at him. ”Roommate, eh? You sure it’s without the hidden meaning?”

”He’s straight,” Harry explains casually, and, whoops. 

That said more than what he intended, really. A suddenly dramatic switch from his what-you-see-is-what-you-get mentality. 

What a triumph; two gays chilling 0 feet apart, and did we establish they’re both gay? They’re gay. One of them is also really hot and also really gay. 

”Unfortunate,” the the really hot gay guy says, then smirks as he straightens ( _ha_ ) himself back out. ”Well,” he continues with a sigh, scratching his scruff, ”don’t have a roommate but a much loving bi co-worker to tend to. So as far as today’s festivities go, I’ve got me my shift down at the shop, then I’m picking out a gift for the little siblings’ birthday. Me youngest two, they’re turning four years now already, just dunno what the fuck kids these days want. An iPad? I’m not getting them a fuckin’ iPad, not when there’s them cool footie games you play by twisting rods. You know the ones?” 

Harry has close to no idea what he’s talking about and it’s half due to the accent (half due to their current proximity making him a little hot and bothered) but he takes a wild guess as he gestures wildly with his free hand to try and explain how he means it himself. ”Those ones with the tiny plastic players, and they like, kick the ball around when you turn on them?”

He clicks his fingers. ”Yeah! That’s the one. They’re getting one of them now, no doubt... If I can only make it before they close.” 

He stops deadpan.

”Okay so yeah I can actually hear myself and I sound like such a spoiled brat right now,” he realises suddenly. 

It startles a laugh out of Harry, and he covers his mouth with his hand, surprised by the genuinity. But it just spurs a shit-eating grin out of this guy. _This guy._

”Yeah yeah, I’m just here like, gossiping with Barbra how my manicure went or summat, like the lady fucked up my cuticle or whatever _and_ , now I’m late to me facial.” Harry’s snickering when the guy pauses the fake-posh bantering to look up at him. It’s a from-under-his-eyelashes type look, sure to leave no survivors, and Harry might just feel it in his whole body as he stops whatever he’s doing abruptly. ”Unless you’re offering.”

He almost drops to the ground. _Almost_. 

That was so- so unexpected that he’s stunned. He’s shocked. Actually, scratch that. Little Harry is suddenly about to fucking _combust_.

He could use a relaxing spa treatment himself, these days. Uh. Not the other kind of facial. 

(No yeah definitely that kind too.) 

He leans his hands for mental and emotional support on the bar in front of — this _fiend_ , this _hellish entity_ , an evil ghoul in the disguise of a little punk rock angel with endless puns to drive him mad. 

He tries very hard to make his voice not break just because it obviously totally would in moments like these when he’s trying to not make a fool out of himself. ”Sorry?”

”Just messing, hun,” the guy grins, which first of all, oh my lord. Second of all, that just means _don’t be so uptight_ , which Harry gets to hear a lot. It’s just hard when there’s miles and miles of sun-kissed skin just inches from him he’s not allowed to touch. It’s hard when he keeps saying things that makes him laugh like nothing’s wrong in the world one minute and the next makes his skin prickly like he’s got pins and needles all over. ”None of that. Not a beauty-care type.”

Harry lets out a breath that could as well be interpreted as a chuckle, but he’s kind of still too stunned to fully commit to it. ”Course not.”

”You seem like the one who’s eager to get one, anyway,” he comments, so _casual_ Harry doesn’t even know which one of them it is that has the dirty mind; he says it as easily as if he’s talking about fucking _laundry_ as he glances at Harry’s lips while Harry thinks frantically about blowing him, so. 

Is he mocking Harry’s immense need for said beauty cares, like a slight read on his particularly feminine style choices, his face which he knows is perfectly glowy because he makes it so or perhaps his long, lovingly deep-conditioned hair… 

Or is he— _is_ he-? Oh, _wow_. 

”Because of these?” Harry questions, flaunting his currently rose-gold speckled nails. He can’t not know. He will not sleep if he doesn’t know. ”Or, why you say that, _darling_?”

He smiles at him. Doesn’t budge. ”You’re pretty,” he murmurs out of the blue, and he calmly grabs the sandwich. ”Thanks so much.”

”Welcome,” Harry murmurs when he lowers his hands again and yes he’s blushing, yes he’s almost bloody _trembling_ as he turns around to make him his coffee.

Because, if the flirting wasn’t obvious before, it most definitely is now. It’s absolutely outrageously, blatantly obvious, he just referenced blowjobs and Harry wants to give a blowjob, he’s completely cool about it and Harry is just absolutely _scandalised_. 

When he grabs the pen he hesitates. He remembers his name, will most definitely write it down without asking him again, but. 

His body is working too fast for his mind to catch up with any of the rationality he’s got left in his body. 

He doesn’t have to actually call out for him today either, and when he hands the cup to him it’s with _Tommo The Tease_ written over it. ”Watch it,” he murmurs, both leaned in close together, ”it’s hot.”

They meet eyes then. Because that little _”like you”_ doesn’t quite leave Harry’s lips, though he’s sure he can read it written on his face. Harry likes being mysterious, enigmatic, but right now he thinks his face might just have an entire erotic novel written across it. 

His eyes drift to his chest, the swirly tattoo and almost-abs below that, the perfectly pudgy tummy.

And whoops, now they’ve drifted too far, retreat quickly. 

”Nice tattoos,” he murmurs, realises they’re both still holding the cup and he takes his hand back, stuffs it below the counter somewhere but thankfully not in like, his _pants_ , though this is clearly a place that needs immediate care and attention. 

Their hands touched, though. It was on purpose. They both did it on purpose. 

”Nice name tag,” says Tommo The Tease, sounding most smug, ” _Harry._ ”

And he tips his sunglasses down, takes his chicken sandwich and leaves. 

Fuck this guy.

No but actually, can this guy fuck Harry? Against the wall in the backroom on his lunch break? Is that honestly too much to ask?

He needs to start doing some deep-breathing exercises if he’s going to keep holding his breath like this whenever he’s in even within a mile’s ratio from him. Going to have to start planning excuses to his boss in his head too, if he’s going to keep doing his job this badly. 

Oh, and he’s definitely not still staring at his butt when he bends down to untie the dog this time around, nope. (Harry would be just as excited and wagging his tail if he had one. The fuck.)

 

 

When 10AM on thursday has long since passed in radio science from a certain admirer, and it’s turning into the after-midday-rush when people are coming in for lunch or after classes, Harry starts planning what to put in his will because he’s definitely not going to live to see the end of this shift. 

Niall is taking the orders while he sorts the beverages, handwriting going gradually worse and worse the more cinnamon lattes and caramel frappuccinos he has to sign. He’s definitely mixed up a few names too, like maybe Amanda just happens to be called Sam today, and that Josh definitely looks like he should have been named Greg; his parents should rather thank Harry for correcting it, maybe give him some extra tip because God knows he deserves it. 

He needs to text Liam. Jesus christ. He needs to just sit down in the locker room and fight for reception to send him cat memes and look at cute pictures of Ryan Gosling or anything else to take his mind off this stress and the immense disappointment that no one came and dispersed it like he was kind of expecting him to. 

God, he’s being such a _baby_. He is actually twenty-fucking- _two_. (I don’t know about you, but he might be feeling like, actual, _two_.)

He’s kind of worried too, if he’s honest. Without a word from a certain-someone he kind of fears that he scared him off, maybe even for good. How can he know? He can’t. He doesn’t even know his name. Doesn’t know where he works or where he lives or how old he is. He can’t exactly ask around for a hottie with a big, curly dog and a big, juicy ass who has terrible taste in food. 

Or can he? Can he honestly? 

Would anyone know who he meant right off the bat?

He’s working on autopilot and bawling his eyes out on the inside when a familiar voice catches his attention. 

”One of these,” he says, ever so casually polite, ”and an iced coffee. Your friend knows how I want it.”

He stills, but really doesn’t have to turn around to know. He’s been fantasizing endlessly about that voice for the past days. 

He was almost starting to think Tommo The Handsome Stranger might have just been a figment of his imagination. 

He makes his coffee fast as to get a second to spare with him, fumbles with the pen as he walks up to the counter where he’s already standing. 

”You’re a fan of chicken,” Harry points out about the wrapped chicken sandwich he’s holding in his hand, still scribbling on the cup. 

It feels weird. Like electricity. He kind of can’t meet his eye, half from nerves, half from how much he knows it’ll give a pang in his tummy with the memory from yesterday. When they touched hands and he murmured sweetly. Can’t get much better than that. 

And all at the same time, he’s growing way too comfortable, he realises. He suddenly feels like he can be smug and banter and maybe that isn’t very healthy, because now they’ve almost established a friendship status, and now it almost feels like attachment. Although, maybe this is only to be expected after someone confides their sexuality to you within the first five sentences or so of your initial conversation... who knows. 

”Hello to you too, Harry,” he answers in that lovely thick accent, and Harry just has to smile, all tension suddenly but a memory on his face. ”I am, yeah, thanks for noticing. Protein and all that.”

”Strong boy.”

”You bet.” He’s grinning now, leaning a hand on the counter so his tank top scoops even lower on those delicious collarbones. ”Make me a good chicken dish of me own actually.”

Harry puts his drink down for him and caps the pen. ”Do tell,” he chirps, genuinely interested. Genuinely just wants to hear him talk for hours. 

The queue is long, but so is the list of conversations he wants to have with this enigma of a man. Guess once which option wins. He _missed_ him. 

”Easy stuff,” Tommo The Modest deflects. ”Wrap it in some parma ham, stuff it with mozzarella - the words the recipe uses, of course - and into the oven. Winner.”

”Sounds complicated,” says Harry, fights an urge to lean his face in his hands and just watch him dreamily. (If no one was here he would. If no one was here he’d probably already have pulled his pants down and leaned himself over the counter too, though. Jesus.) ”I’m impressed.”

”Didn’t take it I’d be so talented in the culinary arts?”

Harry shrugs in a meh-gesture, putting a leg out towards the machine as a promise to himself that’s the direction he’s going, once he’s done rewarding himself bigtime. ”Took you for a, like, heat-up-some-ravioli type of guy.”

He laughs heartily. ”Right, yeah, shit you got me. Only dish I can make other than heating up canned and frozen foods, if I’m honest.” He pulls his cup towards himself, looks down at it where his fingers wrap around the chilled plastic. ”But I’d say I’m pretty talented at it, yeah. Skilled in that area, if you know what I mean.” He winks - Harry _swears_ he winks at him. ”Let’s just say I know how to wrap a cock.”

Oh!

_Fun._

Harry almost slips and falls and dies, or maybe we could skip the foreplay and jump right to the scandalous climax of him deceased on the floor from a heart attack. ” _Yeah?_ ”

Oh my goodness gracious Harry really should be writing a will today. But right now he’s just busy feeling his whole body throb with the mental image of those tattooed hands wrapping around his dick and he’s hoping really bad it doesn’t show in any way outwardly.

Except he’s pretty sure it does, pretty sure he’s got an erotic novel - proper, sinful, explicit smut - written over his face, his heart is on his sleeve, and it’s humping air by a pole for this bloody man alone. 

He leans in so close Harry can smell his dizzying cologne. ”I noticed the name change yesterday,” he randomly acknowledges, and Harry watched his lips move. ”I appreciate the creativity, if I’m honest. Sounds a bit like a stripper. But then, I guess it’s only fair you get my real name too, right? I found yours too easily, didn’t I?”

_Please._

Harry hums as a prompt, feels his bones having turned into actual pink jelly. Pink like the colour of this infatuation. Pink like the clouds he’d be walking on if he got to find out. 

The guy looks into his eyes for a second longer than he needs to, maybe longer than he intends. ”Too bad I don’t play fair,” he murmurs, so low and husky only Harry can hear. He could as well be whispering dirty secrets into his hair. He nods to the side. ”I think you’ve got work to do, my love.”

Harry’s still staring at his lips so he nudges his arm, and it’s like electricity through his body. Did he just feel that? Did Harry make it up? 

Is he really just a figment of his darkest imagination?

His voice is but a whisper when he adds, with somehow equal infatuation drowning his blue eyes: ”I hope I’ll see you later.”

He’s gone without another word with his coffee and his sandwich in his hands and Harry suddenly has Niall yelling in his ear about how he’s got three large vanilla frappes and an Americano queuing up and what the hell is his problem. 

Deep sigh. 

At least the man of his dreams left with Harry’s phone number written on his cup.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So!?!! If you missed the beginning notes, this started being written right after the ”gay vodka” moment and I had to express my love some way or another then I got kinda stuck buuuut I tried powering through it, here we are, do continue if you will, and I'll keep updating this. This wasn’t planned to be chaptered also so?? Hope you enjoy my over-achievement aand harry's slightly dramatic teenagy infatuation
> 
> ~I also want to say I don't! want!! anyone to think I'm trying to paint ANYONE in a bad light with this. Like I know it's a massive joke louis uwu never works out and only eats mcdonald's and is a shit evil person or something but tRUSt ME I don't want to wreck the plot but this ain't all there is and there's no shame! in being like that anyway and he's also like my favourite person in the world (Boy got muscle anyway, of course he does his pushups and eats his greens, bruh, who you tryna fool with that narrative smh okay anygays)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> harry tries to piece things together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll just say again this is all for funs and entertainment. no harm intended! only PUNS intended!!

_”I’ll just assume you didn’t just give me the number to a coffee addicts hotline ?? Helloo harry ;)”_

Harry almost throws his phone across the fucking room. 

It’s too late to back out now, he realises. He could throw it at the wall, take the battery out, ask Liam to smash it with his fist of steel. He still took that step with the handsome stranger that sometimes flirts with him at the shop where he works and now he’s texting him and oh my god oh my god. 

What the hell is wrong with him?

harry: _Soz you’ve infact reached a hotline_  
harry: _”Hello this is Anonymous Americanoholics, my name’s Harry how may I assist you?”_

Aaand he just keeps giving himself reasons to be asking that question. 

He saves the contact as Tommo and sends off a quick _”OMG THE HOT GUY IS TEXTING ME”_ to Liam before he slips his phone back into his pocket - his normal, ripped, skinny black jeans for once - breath slightly more ragged as he looks over some bananas on a shelf and tries to imagine anything but, well. 

He turns around to a face full of eggplants and has to walk promptly away. 

He bags some avocados before he feels a new text buzz on his phone, but ah, see kids, this is when you play like you’re not at all clingy, not at all desperate for the attention. This is when you wait a few minutes so that the other person thinks—

He steers off towards the dairy section as he fishes his phone back up. 

tommo: _”I have a few things in mind but let’s stick to the general introductions for now”_  
tommo: _”what you up to coffee boy ?”_

harry: _”Well when I’m not serving coffee and incredible looks… I’m apparently working a hotline”_

He bites his lip, resists a smile. Giddiness flutters in his tummy and he adds: 

harry: _”Would you kindly enter your name so we may proceed? x”_

Probably the cheekiest he’s ever been, he thinks, as he not-so-secretly hopes Tommo The Flirt will appreciate the gesture. He seems kind of mischievous himself anyway. 

Or, well. Maybe that’s not the right word. 

He puts a (fat-free! low-sugar!) yoghurt in his basket and walks briskly towards the brown rice. 

tommo: _”nice try pretty boy but I’m gonna need you to try even harder x”_  
tommo: _”sharing is caring tho so can I just ask how old are you ?”_

harry: _”I’d ask if it was fair I share but remembered you don’t play fair”_  
harry: _”I don’t know about you, but I’m feeling .…”_

tommo: _”babe you don’t even want to know what I’m feeling when I’m talking to u”_

Okay. Okay he can stop this extreme flirting anytime he wants, thanks very much. (Or, never. Preferably never, and Harry wants to be kissing him, constantly, for the rest of eternity or anything close to it.)

harry: _”Hopefully it’s not bad”_

tommo: _”I can be bad if you want”_  
tommo: _”it’s good tho. trust me very good”_

And there comes that feeling of wanting to chuck his phone across the room again. Is it hot in here? Probably not. His shirt only has like three buttons buttoned. Should he leave? Probably yeah. 

He drums his fingers lined with various silver rings against his lips and wonders offhandedly about what he came looking for in these shelves but, inevitably, gets distracted by the unanswered text. 

harry: _”Good vibes”_

That’s all he settles for, because his hippie brain isn’t really working. 

tommo: _”indeed...Got me a collection of other good sex toys as well ha xx”_

Okay so fuck brown rice, Harry’s fucking leaving. 

He’s fairly certain he’s hardcore blushing by the time he makes it to the self-checkout, fumbles with all the stuff and things to get them into his backpack and then the hot air outside really does nothing to help him. He also has to now get on a bus before he’s home and he’s really not okay about anything. 

God, are you there? Yeah, so, fuck you, man. Whatever. 

His phone buzzes repeatedly and he’s already in an absolute panic, but he fishes it out anyway to sees it’s only from Liam, bless him. Bless him so much. 

liam: _”YOOO !!!!!!”_  
liam: _”Have u asked him out ?!!!!”_  
liam: _”Celebratory dinner on me mate ! Ordering the whole lot as we speak don’t snack on anything aha!!”_

He smiles into his phone, slightly more at ease. Liam knows just how to make him feel better, and Liam just got out of a rough time ending his last relationship even though he’s trying to get over it now and back to dating, either way, he deserves to be excited too. At least Harry’s got something to look forward to now. 

He rounds the corner and instantly almost trips over a dog. 

It’s a big dog too, mind, some big black beastly thing and Harry has to swerve so quickly he trips over his own legs, almost lands straight on his precious ass too which would have just been a great addition to the day. 

He catches himself on a railing though, looks up with hair in his eyes. 

Only to get a puff of smoke blown in his face. 

Tommo The Absolute Dickhead’s eyes are comically large where they stare back at him, and it almost catches Harry off guard more to see him so shocked rather than the fact he’s just seeing him at all. That’s so out of his element it almost even distracts Harry from staring at his rounded lips. 

But what he says makes Harry want to slap him. ”You alright, hun?”

He could have at least gone with _did it hurt when you fell?_ For him or from Heaven would be the follow-up question to that - although, maybe it’s Harry that should be asking this gorgeous boy the latter. 

How can someone look so bloody attractive while _smoking?_

”Sure,” says Harry, just slightly shocked. The dog is wagging its tail when he looks down at it. He’s at such a loss. ”Didn’t really… expect to see you here.”

”You talking to me or me dog?”

Harry glances up again, and fuck this guy, smirking at him with a cigarette in his perfect hand, eyeing down his half-bare chest and the tattoos he’s usually got covered by an apron during the day. At least he’s got a shirt on this time, but it makes it so that Harry can’t eye him right back. How does he sue the whole world?

”Either,” Harry says, draws a hand through his hair (which is not in a bun, surprise surprise) to collect himself even just slightly. ”My favourite customers. One of them have started texting my hotline too.”

The guy proper _grins_. ”You didn’t even reply,” he points out, waving his phone in his hand before he slips it back into his pocket. ”You do a money-back guarantee or should we say you owe me one?”

Harry has to pointedly force himself not to stare. Or like, do other things. ”Alas,” he sighs. He motions to the dog. ”Who’s this?”

”Oh, don’t worry,” the guy says, totally casual while Harry’s burning up, ”he’s no competition to you.” He scratches it behind its ears and it leans into the touch. ”Old Cliff likes to come with me to work. He’s very polite. More so than his dad, probably.”

Harry laughs at that before he crouches down (totally doesn’t just like fall over, um nope) and scratches the dog under his chin so that his tongue happily rolls out. Despite all his inner turmoil, he smiles. ”Hey, Cliff.”

”Short for Clifford,” the guy pipes in, rather proudly. ”The best boyo in the world, that is.”

He can’t believe they’ve just gone from heavily sexting to this. But hey, at least Harry’s on his knees in front of him like he should be, nudge nudge wink wink. 

Harry finds Clifford’s collar, a little bone-shaped decal dangling from it with his name engraved. He flips it over, sees the words ”if lost, return to” and underneath that in lovely, comicbooky handwriting:

_Louis Tomlinson._

What. 

That little _shit._

”He’s a labradoodle,” the guy - _Louis,_ oh my god - says then, unaware of this brilliant discovery and still smoking and still looking extraordinarily hot. ”Labrador and poodle mix. He’s growing taller than me lately.”

 _Louis, Louis, Louis._

Harry chuckles, in spite of it all, and he pets Clifford on his head before he stands back up. ”And where do you work?”

”Nosy, are we?” Louis smirks, taking another drag. Then he flaunts his heavily tattooed forearm. ”Maybe these could give you an idea?”

Harry treasures the moment he gets to openly stare. Honestly. He’s worth it. 

He nods in understanding while he now resists the urge to touch the raised little lines of the doodles on all that tan skin. ”Tommo the tattoo artist,” he murmurs. 

”I quite like that,” says Louis. Louis, Louis, _Louis_. ”Tease was good too.”

Harry’s still studying each and everyone of the small cartoony things, especially the tiny, steaming cup of tea. Curious, that, considering his drink of choice. ”So you actually do the tattoos, or?”

”Nah, just hang around doing nothing, that’s how I afford all that takeaway coffee.” He stubs the cigarette out (a sad loss) and slips his aviators back down from his hair. ”Yeah I tattoo. Nothing too complicated, Zayn’s the one with the crazy realism and shading and that. I only do lineart really. But I own the shop as well. 

”Ooh, supervisor?” Harry looks up at him again, and then it just kinda happens. ”I like a man on top.”

Louis only seems slightly bothered, for only a second too long. ”Tommo the top,” he supposes with a grin. ”Catchy. Well, it just means I’m the one who gets in trouble, should trouble show its nasty face. Anyway. You up to anything right now?”

Harry thinks about his non-existent social life for a split moment of utter embarrassment. ”Uh, dunno,” he shrugs, phone forgotten in his pocket with a text notification still unanswered, ”why?”

Louis just grins. ”No reason.” 

Harry squints. ”You want to start said _trouble_ , do you?”

He grins like a devil, an incubus. Something wickedly unholy you can’t resist no matter how you try. He takes a breath, then pauses. ”Remember what I said my specialty meal is to cook? Got nothing at home to wrap, though, which is just, a proper shame. But I spy with my little eye a very pretty boy with an empty schedule which, I guess means I could have a go with instead, eh?”

 _What_. 

Harry stares. But he honestly doesn’t know what else to do, because that was an implication of- Oh my god, right there, there it was. The most obvious invitation. 

_Sex._

Louis wants to _wrap his cock_ (and Harry wants to _be given a facial_ ) and how the hell is this his life now?

Louis’ faces changes momentarily then, from smug to a softly smiling. It’s like he can tell Harry’s actually shaken to the core and he sighs a little, gently. ”Please tell me no if I’m being too much,” he murmurs, and it’s uncharacteristically soft, actually so soft he could as well be caressing Harry’s cheek, pecking his forehead with a kiss goodnight. Affection is so overwhelming sometimes. ”Don’t do anything if you’re not comfortable.”

Oh. Oh, why is he-

Why is he _caring_?

He’s suddenly acutely aware Louis’ leaned in closer, but there’s no fretting whatsoever in that realisation. He just feels warmth, and his heart is beating slower, like drums in a lo-fi song. He’s moving slow like syrup, molasses. Peaches and cream. 

And suddenly he wants to just close that gap and press his lips hotly against him. 

”No, that’s not-” He has to snap out of it. Like, yesterday; moving _forward_. ”I’m just- I’m a little mesmerized by you, sometimes. I’m all for it. God. Yeah.”

”You sure?” He’s so kind, Harry kind of wants him to be a dick again so he doesn’t accidentally ask him to marry him or something. Oh no, _dick_. Harry wants to _suck his dick_. ”Promise you’ll be good to yourself?”

 _God_ , he needs to _touch_ him. 

Harry’s hand has suddenly found its way to his collar. He runs his fingers along it, then traces the seam with his thumb, slowly, gently as his eyes stay locked on the dip between his collarbones. ”Okay.”

He feels Louis still under his touch, lets him fiddle with his shirt. He flicks his eyes to Louis’ lips, then to his eyes; they’re now set on Harry’s own lips. 

Harry wets them. Thinks. ”Do I have to be good just ’cause you’re bad?”

Louis breathes out a laugh, slightly stifled. Stifled, like he’s, well. _Flustered_. He’s kind of leaning into his touch now too. ”Be whatever you want to be.”

Harry hums. He brings his hand back to his side and takes a step back. ”Then I’m bored.” 

It’s Louis’ turn to be speechless. He gapes for a second, then closes his mouth, then clears his throat. ”That so?”

Harry may just be aching to touch him more, but they’re behind a store and an old lady is currently rolling a cart up. And, it’s just not happening. 

”So is Clifford.” Harry pets his head for emphasis. ”And, if you wanna hang out- oh. Oh! _Damn it._ ”

He clasps his hands over his mouth. 

_Liam!_

Liam is treating him celebratory takeaway. Liam probably already set the table. He never sets the table unless it’s very, very special. 

Louis cocks his brow and gestures over him with a limp wrist. ”Did you just do that whole thing because you _cursed_ , or-?”

”No, I…” Harry waves him off, but then he stalls. ”It’s just, my roommate. Well, my best friend really… Uhm, we made plans, all of a sudden, I feel so dumb but it just feels-”

Louis puts his hand on his arm to stop it from flailing. Maybe to calm him down. It does quite the opposite, but. 

”You go with your mate, love,” he says sweetly, and Harry thinks he might almost burn a hole in his shirt with how much he stares at where their bodies connect. ”Bros before hoes.”

It startles a laugh from Harry. ”I think _I’m_ the hoe here.”

And he can’t believe he just said that. 

Louis releases his arm, grin on his face now. ”Clearly you’re the bro, don’t know how you got it so twisted.”

Harry snorts and and pushes him playfully, which ends up being a mistake because he’s never touched him like that and he also kind of needs him to keep staying as close as possible and stuff. ”Right.”

Louis smirks. He starts walking backwards, Clifford following. And Harry doesn’t follow. Just looks dreamily after him. ”Tomorrow, Harry.”

”Right.” Harry’s dick is still sort of stirring in his pants, like, sorry, big guy, forgot we’re dealing with a _tease_. ”Tomorrow.”

”Tomorrow,” he echoes. He lifts his phone. ”In the meantime I think you have a text to reply to.”

Harry does. 

Once he’s home, he will. 

Once he’s home, he’ll also have a boner to attend to. But only after he attends to his fantastic roommate he loves very much even though right now he kind of put him in a tricky spot. 

”Promise.”

And Louis just blows him a kiss. 

_Louis, Louis, Louis._

 

 

A dinner of stuffing his face with forkfuls of noodles to dodge questions he doesn’t know the answer to or can’t answer without getting hella embarrassed, followed by (a confused wank, and one more just frustrated one, and then) another moon passing over the night sky which he nervously tosses himself through sleep during, and _then_.

And then, Louis doesn’t show up. 

10am passes and he doesn’t show. 

The midday rush passes and he doesn’t show. 

Usually, Harry would like to sit and wallow in self pity. He’s got a perfect playlist for crying over stupid boys. Declan McKenna is great and underrated and so is Bonnie Tyler. 

He doesn’t open it though. Instead, he feels _anticipation_.

He’s got his lunch break and then he works just two more hours, and he knows Louis will be back. Louis, with the prettiest name, knows he’s free today, today which is tomorrow, and he seemed more than keen on getting back with him. Also, Harry’s outfit once he gets out of this one is pretty bomb, if he may just say so himself. He should be looking forward to it too. 

So he waits. He spills coffee on himself. It’s iced, it’s fine, it works to chill his burning skin. 

Today. 

 

 

 _”This could be us but u playing”_ , Harry DMs Liam with a picture of two cats cuddling on a sofa. He adds: _”*but I’m stuck at work”_

He’s so hip with the lingo. He is a millennial. 

Liam reads it immediately, because Liam is a bastard that works night and has the liberty of staying at home in their favourite sofa while Harry slaves by coffee machines, and sends him a heart and a crying-laughing emoji. Harry smiles fondly and swipes out the chat to check his Instagram feed. 

He’s sitting on a container behind the building because he’s a classy bitch, he swears he is. He’s got his classy bitch salad right next to him, anyway, some honey-coated, whole-grain bread too and a water from inside. Lunch breaks are, as usual, terrifyingly slow and boring. 

At least he can steal the wi-fi. 

His feed is some healthy food inspo, some artsy pictures. Some are just hot guys he randomly found who takes pictures of themselves like they’re actually models. He lingers on one taken from above one of the boys’ bed, where he lies in his boxers and a tight henley shirt, and he studies their glorious thigh muscles before he tentatively double-taps. 

It’s been a while since he got some. Too long. He’s basically a hermite. 

He’s tilting his face out towards the sun like a content cat, phone lying on top of his thigh when someone suddenly scoffs beside him. ”You’re seriously having a salad.”

Harry’s eyes fly open to the stranger, who’s maybe not so much of a stranger, except his rational brain knows better. 

Louis stands with two white bags of takeaway, sneering at him where he’s sitting in a back alley like a homeless guy. 

He’s even got a shirt on this time as well, a black thing from Adidas to go with his grey joggers and Harry for some reason feels more like a loser by the second. It’s not many seconds though. But all he can think of as a reply, is to scoff right back at him, albeit a bit more scandalised. 

”It’s good for you,” he retorts, and Louis’ sneer grows even more menacing. ”Tell me _darling_ , what heart diseases are _you_ carrying?”

”It’s called _cardiovascular_ diseases,” Louis corrects smugly - because his doctor must be informing him of health dangers on the daily, Harry assumes - and he walks closer with one hand raised. ”Burger and fries,” he introduces, then raises the other, ”and a wholesome kebab for Zaynie. For two very busy boys on this much lovely day - sorry for not showing for our usual 10-o’clock, by the way.”

Harry blinks at him. This could be the loving, bisexual co-worker. It could also be literally anyone. Like, a love interest. Which would be fine. Because he’s not about to be jealous of someone he doesn’t even know. 

(He’s already imagining he’s super hot though, some otherworldly handsome kind of man that loves to cherish his hot boyfriend with kisses and a daily morning blowjob before work—

Okay, woah. Harry just went there. His thoughts did; bad thoughts! Bad!)

Louis slows to a stop in front of him, puts both his bags down with a rustle. ”He’s just me mate,” he explains softly, as if he can read Harry’s mind. 

Harry sure hopes he can’t. That would be inhumanly embarrassing. 

”Right,” Harry utters, sounding breathless. ”No chicken sandwich then?”

”He treated me, so. His choice.” He raises a bag for emphasis. ”Surely there’s enough protein in this bad boy as well.”

Harry plays unphased. He speaks casually. ”Your tattoo shop’s around here, then?” He puts his phone back into his pocket, trousers currently painfully unattractive and beige. ”Does _Zaynie_ work there?”

Louis tilts his head. ”Wouldn’t you like to know?”

This _fiend_. Harry lowers his brows like in challenge. ”I would, thanks.”

He smirks (maybe he never stopped smirking) and takes a daring step closer. And another. 

Oh, fun. No, really, this is _great_. 

Even though it’s happening slowly, syrupy slow, it feels as if it’s all of a sudden that Louis’ right in front of Harry’s perched legs, close enough he could be about a quarter of an inch from touching his knees. And Harry thinks even that might be too much for him. Just a touch and he’d probably get right on those knees right in front of him. 

”And what else do you want, Harry?” Louis asks him, voice husky, scratchy-sweet. 

It takes all in Harry not to spread his legs for him. 

”How do you mean?” he asks, sounding aloof, heart beating hard behind his ribs. The rib cage was really made to keep those wild beasts tamed. Harry’s would be off and about getting stolen by every attractive boy he saw if he didn’t have one, probably. 

Louis puts his hands up, and Harry draws a sharp breath. He just puts them on either side of Harry, for support, right beside his sensitive thighs and leans against the container. Harry holds it for another second. 

When he breathes out, it comes out shaky. 

”How do you interpret it?” Louis asks, and yeah, Harry’s kind of quivering. He’s getting _desperate_. ”Do tell, love. Be honest.” He’s close. So close he’s whispering into Harry’s hair. ”What was the first thing that came to mind?”

 _’That I want you inside of me’_.

He can’t say that. Obviously he can’t. He kind of figures it’s what he wants to hear, though, but just that’s the thing. 

He must be able to see it. He must already know. 

Harry swallows hard. His throat bobs. ”Why don’t you figure it out?”

He’s probably never been so god-awfully turned on. 

Louis turns his head a bit, and Harry’s just staring straight ahead, feeling with awful embarrassment how badly his dick is stirring in his trousers. Not quite at any alarming rate, mind. Not yet. Not just from words. 

Still. _Still,_ he got him here just from _talking_. Being maybe a little bit too close. 

Louis moves back a bit, looks at Harry with half-lidded eyes. Harry realises that - without his own accord, clearly, and clearly this is some sort of _conspiracy_ \- how his own hands, once stiff by his sides, come up to graze his shoulders. 

And they continue, and they caress up his neck, through his feathery hair, grabbing handfuls and then they’re both pushing forward hungrily, and then they’re kissing. 

They’re kissing, and he feels lips and tongue ans teeth, and it’s like Louis pushes closer at the same time as Harry slides down towards him, and suddenly. Suddenly his crotch is slotted right in between Harry’s legs, flush together, and fuck. _Fuck._

Harry feels how Louis’ dick twitches in his jeans, holy hell, he feels the entire stiff _outline_ of it and oh my god this can not ever end well. 

His nimble, perfect hands are under Harry’s calves then, only pulling him closer, crotches rubbing together through layers of clothing. Harry yelps against his lips, muffled, and he slings his arms around his shoulders, keeps himself steady. 

He also wraps his legs around his middle. 

In turn, Louis’ hands move to grip into the underside of his _thighs_ , and Harry suddenly wants to _grind_ against him. 

He doesn’t. He’s busy desperately tasting him, for one. And besides, Louis’ already sliding his fingers up, ghosting closer and closer to the curve of his ass so that Harry can’t take it anymore. He pulls away suddenly. Flustered. 

”I’m sensitive,” he blurts out. He’s met with a grin, silenced with another kiss. He moans against it. Just. Can’t help it. 

Louis pulls away with a wet smack, and Harry immediately chases after it, looking for more. ”I can tell,” he rasps, and fuck this guy. Fuck this fucking guy. He dips down and kisses his neck, and Harry’s head rolls back as well as his _eyes_ in absolute heavenly pleasure because those _soft lips_ and that _rough stubble_. ”Not here, is what you meant to say, eh?”

It hurts to admit. Because he wants it. He wants it so, so badly. 

But he also doesn’t want to get fired. Or arrested. 

”Yeah.”

Louis hums against his neck, vibrations going through his whole body. 

And just like that, the warmth once encapsulating him is dispersing. Tommo The Sex-God unwraps himself from around him, and all that’s left as a memory is the wet phantom-feeling of his lips on his neck, on his own lips, still tingling. The throbbing in his suddenly slightly tighter trousers as his legs fall limp to the side, still parted. 

”Yeah,” he echoes, and Harry regrets it so much it physically hurts. 

He eyes the gorgeous creature in front of him once again, hair is a mess, more than usual. His eyes are dark, and Harry knows he honestly can’t be looking much better off himself. 

”Yeah,” Harry says, again. Because what else can he say? 

They don’t want to stop. That’s just the thing. Neither of them do. 

Holy shit, that’s a win on its own. 

Louis smirks a little, and it’s still with that spark of some sort of sick allurement that makes Harry’s stomach twist with arousal, so much that he has to promptly close his legs again. ”Another time, Coffee Boy,” he supposes, and he draws a hand through his messy hair, shakes his frige out before he picks up his bags again. Harry really doesn’t want him to go. He just really, really doesn’t. ”What you up to now?”

”I’m off in two hours,” Harry tells him, smoothening out his clothes, like a _mess_.

”Wanna _get off_ in two hours?” 

Harry instantly squints. It’s like on instinct. ”What did you—”

”I just said, wanna see my apartment?” Louis shrugs. ”I mean, not much to see, if I’m honest. There’s a bedroom. A couch too. I’m not picky.”

Did he just. 

_Did he._

”I’ll come back for you later,” Louis assures when he can’t answer. It’s good someone has their shit together around here when Harry’s brain suffers an electric shortage once every other second. ”Only fair I let you find a better outfit.”

He looks down at his miserable work clothes. There’s a coffee stain on his collar. 

”How kind,” he murmurs. 

”Course.” 

”Meet me outside the supermarket,” Harry decides, calculating his time. ”In about two and a half.”

”Will do.” Louis wipes spit off his lip with his thumb, all clean and normal and ready for the world again. ”Well.” Walks backwards for a bit. ”Enjoy your salad.”

Harry’s eyes are like the heart-eyes emoji and shooting daggers all at the same time. He can barely even breathe. ”Enjoy your heart disease.”

” _Cardiovascular_ ,” he chuckles, raises his hand in a wave, then he’s off. 

He’ll give Harry _cardiac arrest_. 

He just sits for a moment, watches him disappear around the corner of the building. He fights getting up and running after him. Even just to spy on him and see where it is he spends his days. 

His legs are made of too much jelly currently, either way. He might actually fall over. He’s way too horny for this. 

Oh my god that ass looks so great in joggers.

 _”I just made out???”_ he messages Liam with a complimentary shocked and a blushing emoji face, stuffs a fork of salad into his mouth and chews with a haunted expression on his face. As the kids say, he’s shook. He’s very, very shooketh. 

Liam sends about a billion question marks back and Harry laughs. Where does he even begin explaining? He tried to yesterday over dinner, when he ended up just stuffing his face full of food and trying to get Liam to talk about his day instead or, _anything_ , really, as he was hardcore blushing at how ridiculous this boy makes him act. 

He should probably look at some more cat memes and calm himself down. 

 

 

Louis’ smoking outside the store when Harry walks out in the sunlight. Clifford barks at him, but he’s sure it’s just out of excitement, what with how much his cute fluffy tail is wagging. 

”Harold,” Louis greets sagely, pulling Clifford back by his lead. ”Easy, boy.”

”It’s alright,” Harry drawls, and he looks up with a toothy smile. The smile turns into his lips tightly pressed together. Because he suddenly feels like he should kiss Louis. 

Not even the hot kind. Not the press-me-up-against-that-pole-and-fuck-me-senseless kind. 

Like a cute peck on the cheek. Like couples do. 

This must be the side-effect of the sweet talk yesterday. Hm. Must be. 

He realises Louis’ silently watching him too, so he clears his throat, searches his creativity just to say _anything_. ”Ready to go?”

Louis just blinks at him at first. ”Yeah,” he says, but he doesn’t sound convincing, and he’s hardcore eyeing Harry’s large shopping bag. ”Yeah, are you- are you bringing an entire pantry there, love?”

Harry squints at him. He inhibited him from properly doing his shopping yesterday; how very dare he go and insult it? ”Should I leave my almond milk out in the _sun?_ ”

Louis shrugs amusedly. ”Food for the road, I suppose. You do you.” He squints back at him suddenly. ” _Almond?_ ”

”It’s _good for you_ ,” Harry drawls, chuckling a little at the memory. He’s a nutter. 

And now he’s thinking about grinding against him again like he almost got to earlier. Right. _Right._

”Uh,” he says intelligently, ”so where are we going?”

Louis smirks, not even affected. He walks ahead and tugs gently at Clifford to get him to follow. ”He knows the way,” he announces with a proud smile. ”Come on, boy. Show Harry what you can do.”

Harry might be in love. And it’s clearly with this precious dog. 

Clifford’s ears peak and he sniffles the ground as he starts his trail leading - hopefully, allegedly - homeways. Harry’s kind of struggling with his kind of very inconvenient bag (he’s got some impressive muscles himself, just never really learned how you walk with one of those continuously bumping into your legs) and it makes the whole ordeal kind of awkwardly unattractive, but still, his heart is still beating against his ribs just from the implication alone. 

Because Louis’s swaying his curvy hips as he walks, still smoking the last of his cigarette with his pretty lips blowing out smoke in the opposite direction of Harry as if to not bother him, and Harry’s about to be able to touch him so fucking much, holy fuck. 

”Don’t know if it’s too tidy, if I’m honest,” Louis ponders then, and Harry wonders suddenly how a boy like this even defines _tidy_. Are we talking scattered empty milk cartons all over the kitchen sink, or are we talking clothes littered all around the apartment? ”I think it’s respectable, though. We’ll see.”

”We’ll see,” Harry echoes, switching from one aching hand to another. ”How far is it?”

”It’s just this building here,” Louis announces and gestures lazily in front of them, a tall apartment building in a row of five others. ”Want me to lend a hand there?”

Harry huffs. ”It’s alright.”

Louis smirks at him, and it still puts Harry on the brink of a heart-attack. ”Is it really though?” 

It isn’t. He’ll have bruises all over his legs tomorrow. ”Yes.” 

Louis’ smirk grows wider. He drops the cigarette, slides over it with his sneaker when he walks over it. ”As you wish, princess. I’m suspecting you’ll say yes next time I’m asking if you need a hand, but let’s save that one until later, then.”

So, okay. Yeah, okay. Harry mentally trips and dies. ”Save the best for last,” he says casually. 

”Oh, but the best isn’t the hands, is it now?”

How does he-

How does he _do_ that?

Luckily for Harry they stop outside the gate just then. Louis puts a number in on the num pad, holds the gate open for Harry, and. Freeze. Harry’s brain has a meltdown and suddenly he’s just staring at Louis with his arm out like he could be about to embrace him.

Louis stares right back with half-lidded eyes. 

They simultaneously look down and chuckle in both surprise and fondness when Clifford brushes past their legs suddenly, easily making his way past both of them, lead clinking cheerfully. His tail bobs in blissful ignorance of his dad’s ability to create sexual tension wherever he goes. 

”Diva,” Louis scoffs, and Harry doesn’t realise how big he’s smiling until he feels his cheeks have started to ache. ”Well. Go on, then. Me the peasant shall go last.”

Harry walks on with his giant shopping bag, hearing the creak of the gate as Louis starts to close it behind him. Still in the mindset of what a good son Clifford is, he hums contently. ”Thanks, daddy.”

The creak stops. It stops for a few seconds. Then it starts again cautiously, until there’s a metallic pang as it shuts heavily behind him. Harry keeps walking, smile still playing his lips, pretty close to manic if he’s honest. 

Because he just discovered something beautiful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you're having a good ride so far :')


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> things escalate.

”Kick your boots off wherever,” says Louis when he locks the door behind him and Clifford, making his merry way into the dark apartment. ”Don’t got a shoe rack or nothing. Suppose you’re one of them more posh types so I feel like I should keep apologizing.”

Harry furrows his brow at him. ”Being judgemental too, are we?” he questions. 

Louis shrugs as he toes off his Vans. ”Just stating the obvious, love.”

Harry shakes his head in some sort of endearment then reaches to pull his golden boots off. Maybe that’s a tell. Maybe he just knows of some trustworthy charity markets. 

Louis doesn’t turn the lights on when he wanders into the apartment. Harry puts his bag down by the door and takes a slow step forward, feeling the linoleum floor under his ankle-socked feet. A bowl rustles in what he supposes is the kitchen when Louis fills it with dog food, followed by a whisper to ”dig in, babe”, followed by some much cheerful munching. 

Louis emerges again, and Harry suddenly realises what the hell is going on. He’s in Louis’ apartment. A solid good boy is having his dinner in the kitchen, but other than that—

Holy fuck, they’re all alone. 

Louis walks up to him, smirking like he’s about to get to eat dessert. That means, it’s a very, very mischievous and smug smirk. ”Hey, there.”

Harry blinks hazily. He’d love for him to eat him like dessert. Whatever that means. ”Nice seeing you here.”

”You’re the one looking nice.” He stops in front of him, links his hand around Harry’s wrist gently, his anchor tattoo. Harry drops his eyes to it, then back up. ”Standing in my hall, and that. Pretty. I’ve got you to myself, finally.” A shiver runs up his spine in anticipation. ”It’s just that, I’d maybe like to see how you look sprawled on my bed,” he takes a step back and nods to the side, ”if you’re interested?”

Harry’s _buzzing_. 

He nods. Louis leads the way. 

He pulls him along by his wrist and Harry walks further into the dim apartment, his heartbeat thick in his whole body as he follows behind him like a puppy. A dog in heat, more like, but when _hasn’t_ he? Doesn’t mean he ever _could_ , not until now. And, now that he can, he doesn’t want to stop following. Stop coming after him. 

Or, uhm. For him. 

Louis turns around before he enters a door. ”I’ll just,” he interjects, then he’s distracted with like, staring at Harry, it seems, ”go and check me room. Dispose of some corpses and that.”

”Hot.” I mean, sure.

Louis watches him for another moment. Then he puts his hands on his shoulders, and he pushes him back against the wall. Harry’s bum bumps against it and he gasps. ”Stay right here,” he tells him, smirking like he knows exactly what he’s making Harry feel with all this commanding. ”Alright?”

Louis starts to turn away, hand raised like he’s making a dog sit and wait for him. Harry suddenly grins, new-found power soaring through him. ”I will, daddy.”

He freezes. 

Then he shakes his head and walks in through the door. 

Harry continues grinning in triumph. He looks around the hall; there’s a bunch of denim and leather on the jacket hooks, plain white walls, no pictures out here but he sees ones ahead in the kitchen. They’re rounded up over the brim of the fan over the stove, faces he can’t make out, digital camera ones and even more printed out ones on the fridge. His heart melts to a puddle when he spies little kids, thinking it must be the little siblings he considered getting the footie game, their picture put up with a spaceship-shaped magnet and the other ones with a variety of animals, fruits and letters. He suddenly wonders if he can spell out his name with them. 

Clifford pads out of the kitchen with a clicking noise of his claws before he rounds the corner into, Harry assumes, the lounge. He can’t quite see it though. Might be an ordinary lounge. 

_And_ now Harry’s bored. 

He saunters forwards quietly, closing in on the open door. When he peeks his head inside he sees Louis stood over the bed, one hand in his hair, scratching absently. He seems to be fretting about how to make the bed, or rather, whether or not to. Whether to keep it stylishly unmade or at least smoothening the corners out, or whatever. Maybe debating if he cares enough to bother. 

He sighs in defeat suddenly. ”It’s alright,” he announces for a Harry no longer in the hall. He turns around quickly and walks briskly towards the door, when: ”You can- _oh, shit_.”

He staggers to a sudden halt, and suddenly, they’re just inches apart. 

They’re both just staring at each other, the only sound their breathing against each other’s lips. Harry blinks at him. ”Hi.”

Louis’ eyes grow… wickedly darker. 

Then he takes ahold of Harry’s shoulders and pushes him backwards again, only this time, there’s more force. His hand only comes loose when Harry realises in a slight panic he’s about to hit the wall and he cups it behind Harry’s head so to not slam him to his actual death. 

He comes close in a frenzy, pressing his body to his. He grips for his wrists but now he pins them above his head, keeping him in place, teeth grazing his neck and he _growls_ : ”I thought I told you to stay.”

Harry gasps and tries to wrap his arms around him, but he’s still trapped. He’s still trying to wrap his head around what’s even happening as well. ”I-”

”None of that.” Louis slots his leg between his thighs. Oh my god, his glorious thigh is pressing right against Harry’s cock. ”Why don’t you remind me... What did you like calling me so much?”

Harry swallows loudly. He’s gaping like a fish on land, Louis’ lips on his neck, his heart going wild in his chest. He honestly can’t even think of it. Yet it’s the first thing on the tip of his tongue. ” _Daddy_.”

”Then say,” he nibbles at his neck, ” _please, daddy, I’m sorry_.”

Oh _fuck_. 

Harry tips his head back with his eyes fluttering shut. ” _Please-_ ”

He can’t finish his sentence, because Louis grinds against him with both of their semis rubbing firmly against the other’s thigh, and he just stutters a moan into the open space. 

”Please what, love?”

”Please, daddy,” Harry pleads, and it’s Louis’ turn to moan into his neck, ”I’m sorry, forgive me.”

”Again.”

Harry whines. Louis rocks his pretty hips against him. ” _Daddy_ ,” he chokes out, craning his neck for Louis’s lips. His stubble burns over his delicate collarbones. ”I’m _sorry_.”

His fingers clasp hard against his wrists, but slowly, they start to loosen. 

”That’s alright,” Louis murmurs, softly, but there’s a tang of a sneer to his voice. He kisses him below the jawline, butterfly-light. ”It’s okay. That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

”No.” He’s dropped his hands to Harry’s waist, and Harry manages to wrap his arms around his neck tentatively, aching at the wrists. He wishes he could wrap his legs around him as well. ”It wasn’t.” 

But there’s a shiver in his voice and a tightening of his jeans, all of a sudden. He’s kind of very dizzy with Louis all over him like this. Wasn’t bad, though. Just very, very good. 

Louis kisses him more, open and wet and warm kisses right where it feels the best. ”Yeah,” he gruffs, hands sliding down his body. ”Too bad I didn’t accept it.”

Harry stills. ”O-oh…”

Louis’ hands slip down to his thighs, and Harry almost flinches and yelps once again how he’s sensitive. But then he just. ”Jump up, baby.”

Harry’s puzzled. Dazed and confused. Then he feels how Louis’ fingers knead into the backs of his thighs and he takes the hint, albeit still not in the right mind to make any sensical decisions. He literally wants to be fucked right about this wall. It’s not even a good-looking wall. He’s sure he had higher standards at one point in his life, when he didn’t feel high and drunk at the same time because he’s imagining all the ways a boy’s lips could feel on him. 

He wraps his arms tighter around Louis’ neck, skips up, and suddenly Louis’ carrying him and suddenly Louis’ bumping his back to the wall. Harry’s legs come wrapped around his middle, crotches flush together with his hands digging into his thigh, breathing hot against each other’s necks. 

” _Fuck_ ,” Harry mewls, and Louis’ no better off. 

”Shit.” He kisses him sloppily again, kissing wherever he can reach over his neck and jaw and Harry absolutely melts into it all. ”You feel amazing, my love. Taste so sweet.” 

Harry wraps his legs tighter around him in response, fingers buried in his shirt. He wants to grind. Hump. Taste and feel. He wants to _fuck_ , so why are his _clothes_ still on?

But Louis walks backwards then, and Harry’s just burying his face in the crook of his neck, scared shitless but also hasn’t ever been so turned on in his _life_. ”Time to punish my bad boy.”

It sends Harry’s stomach into doing a proper summersault. 

He drops him off on the bed, not gracefully, not gently. But roughly, leaning down over Harry in an instant to place himself between his legs again and press another hard kiss to his lips. 

Relentless, like how Harry likes it. 

His shirt is ripped from over his head, somehow, some miraculous way because Harry already feels about as good as jelly, gripping helplessly for Louis to ground him even somewhat. 

”Fuck me,” Harry breathes suddenly, in a second he gets when Louis goes to fumble around the bulge in his jeans, and his head snaps up to proper stare at him. ”God, I can’t- I want it.”

Louis chuckles breathily. ”Well what do we say, princess?” He sneers as he starts playing with his restrained, throbbing cock, knowing exactly what he’s doing. ”Shit, you’re fucking huge, love.”

Harry bites his lip to repress a moan but Louis puts his thumb on his lip, makes him release the moan, only to have it be the most filthy noise to spill from his mouth. 

”Please, daddy,” Harry keens, and Louis watches him in some kind of awe, eyes glazed. ”Wanna be fucked by you.”

It’s funny how being horny makes you lose every single ounce of self respect. (Not sure he had much to begin with, though.)

Louis brushes his thumb along his raw bottom lip, watching him intently. Harry pokes his tongue out to swirl around it lazily and it seems to almost make him hitch on his breath; his hand on his bulge squeezes firmly, like it’s subconscious, and Harry muffles his moan with his lips wrapped around his thumb instead. 

”You’d look so pretty sucking a dick,” Louis gruffs, and Harry feels all light and fluttery under all the attention. ”So pretty. Can I see? See what it looks like with your pretty mouth?”

_How is he so good at this?_ Harry hums against his thumb, and Louis pulls it out with a pop. He kisses him instead, Harry hungrily arching up towards his touch. 

At the same time, his skilled hand goes to unzip his jeans, slipping behind the zip to fondle him greedily. He breaks the kiss and Harry’s head lolls back in pleasure, and still - this is teasingly slow. Not fair. Not fair anywhere. 

”That’s beautiful,” Louis murmurs, apparently directed at Harry’s furrowed brow and parted lips, breathing so that his chest rises high before it falls. 

”Please,” Harry tries again, trying not to buck his hips. ”Wanna suck you. Want you to fuck my mouth.”

”Yeah?” Louis breathes, palming him expertly. ”Then what? Then what do you want?”

The room feels like a sauna, like he can barely even gather his thoughts because they just turn into mist, vaporize and disappear. He rambles on though. Everything he can gather from the top of his head. 

”Want you inside me,” Harry whines, bucking his hips now, digging his fingers into Louis’ back. ”However you want me. Just want you.”

But it’s not as much _want_ as it is _need_ , he realises. He _craves_. 

Louis arches a brow. ”Plain, boring missionary?”

Harry whines in frustration. ” _Hard_ ,” he explains, and Louis finds his gaze. ”Slowly first. Then want it rough. Just like, love it like that.” He rolls his head back into the mattress. ” _Please?_ ”

Louis hums with a smirk. ”Just checkin’.” He slips his hand out of his jeans and Harry groans, his heart going down the slope of a rollercoaster to then flatline. ”I’ll see what I can do.”

He gets up on slightly wobbly legs (and what a view he is tenting in his joggers, holy shit, snap snap goes his mental-image camera) and settles with one on either side of Harry. He knee-walks up his body, suddenly towering above him, and Harry slowly tilts his head from his dick up to meet his eyes. 

”Alright?” Louis asks, getting his shirt over his head to throw it across the room. 

Harry nods wordlessly. Louis tilts his head. 

”I’m gonna need an oral confirmation,” he says sagely. He wiggles out if his joggers and off they go, left in only his black boxers and socks. ”That’s key of BDSM. The SSC.”

Harry grins, suddenly gleeful, albeit still hazy like he’s stuck between two radio channels. One is his usual self, one is lost in Louis. ”I’m about to give you oral confirmation.” This makes him roll his eyes. Ah, that’s how you get to a Louis; with awful, awful puns. ”Hm. What’s SSC?”

”There’s C for consent,” he explains to him, palming himself through his boxers as Harry watches with big eyes, trying hard to concentrate on the words, ”and the S’s are safe and sane. Now. Do you give consent?”

Harry can’t tear his eyes away. ”Yes.”

”Do you feel safe?”

He feels kind of snuggly, if he’s honest. ”Yes.”

”And are you sane?”

He quirks his lips. He wants Louis’ cum dripping down his throat. So. ”Absolutely not.”

”Great.” He takes himself out of his boxers and Harry’s mouth falls open on its own accord. ”Me neither. Not with you. Think you drive me a little crazy, you do.” He strokes up and down and Harry would slap his hands away to take him himself if they weren’t currently trapped by his legs. He wraps his hands around his calves, just to hold onto _something_. ”Genuinely though, I’m pretty sane, I am, as far as sanity goes with someone like me. I’m not going to hurt you. That much I can promise. Just tell me right away if you’re uncomfy, yeah?”

Harry nods. 

Louis thumbs at his cockhead and Harry whimpers a little in the desperation over how he’s still not the one touching it. ”Words, Harry.”

”Yeah, daddy,” he gets out, and Louis sighs in pleasure as he screws his hand. 

”That’s my good boy.”

He moves his hand to the base of his dick, guides it to Harry’s mouth. Harry greedily flops his tongue out (thinking about the times Liam laughed at him for how he eats things tongue-first like it’s a landing board, but look where all that practice got him, hmm) to have the swollen head of it rest on the tip. 

He pushes forward and Harry wraps his lips around it, moaning around the stretch, swirls his tongue. Sucks it like the cherry lolly he got the other day, because we all know this is exactly what he thought about then, all he ever wanted. 

Louis shuffles a little closer, careful at first, and starts thrusting his hips. Meanwhile Harry does everything he can to please with the very little amount of resources he has. Making sure he knows it’s fine to up the speed, the momentum. 

He knows he’s looking at Louis with eyes about as stricken as if he’d hung the moon. 

This must spur Louis on to finally start moving quicker. With a fast pace he alternates between the tip, making Harry struggle to suck hard enough, cheeks hollowing; then deeper, hitting the back of his throat. Harry can’t help but gag and gargle and cough a little and all the other fun stuff, but he loves doing it, _god_ he just just _loves_ to please. 

The pleasure on Louis’ face is enough to motivate him to endure for probably like, hours. Days. Weeks? He wants to come until he can’t anymore. He wants to be fucked until he can’t walk upright. 

”That’s brilliant, love,” Louis marvels, sounding more strained. It means he’s really being brilliant, and he blushes a little from the compliment. It’s a very nice compliment. ”Beautiful. So good, Harry, so good.”

Harry hums, or moans or something, all and everything as Louis’ fingers go grabbing his hair, fucking into him for Harry to take. 

”You’re so pretty with all that dick in your mouth.” He feels it. He’s never done a work this good in his whole life; his managers at the coffee shop could confirm. ”Fuck. Taking it so fucking well, baby.”

He curls his hand lightly below his jawline, squeezes teasingly as Harry hums in a plead, keens under the rough touch because anything he does feels absolutely paradisiac. Louis watches his reactions intently before he lets go. He wipes some drool going down his chin, slapping his cheek a little playfully as he smirks. 

Harry’s stomach does flip after flip after flip. 

”You like everything, eh?” He’s genuinely impressed. An idea seems to spark. ”Babe, could you promise me something right now? Squeeze twice if it’s too much, alright?” 

Harry realises he’s sort of digging his fingers into his bare calves. Hopefully not fucking up that bad boy spiderweb tatt. 

He squeezes two times to test it out. 

”Atta boy,” Louis murmurs. ”Atta wonderful fucking boy. Now...”

He trails his fingers up Harry’s jaw, softly though he’s still thrusting into him at the same velocity. Harry watches him with hooded eyes, feeling dazed, caressed as delicately as if he’s a flower petal on a rose. 

Then he pinches his fingers over his nose. Harry’s eyes widen, stares up at him, only to have them roll back with the pleasure and a moan high in his throat. He wants to gasp in pleasure but his breathing is completely restricted, makes it feel like he’s just about floating off in a warm river how aroused he gets. 

Distantly he feels his dick throbbing. Distantly, he knows he’s giving up all control, and it feels like the most amazing thing ever. 

He squeezes his ankles twice when he starts feeling his lungs ache, and Louis’ quick to respond. He doesn’t just take his fingers off; he pulls out of him as well, swings his leg off his chest to sit aside on the bed which is very much appreciated when Harry has to lean up to cough, catching his breath while wiping spit from his chin.

”Beautiful. You’re absolutely incredible.” Louis watches him, somewhere in his clouded peripheral vision. But suddenly he grabs his shoulder and flips him back onto his back. ”Now, then. Back at it, babe,” he calls, and suddenly he’s straddling him again. 

Harry gapes, but his arms are free though, maybe to be able to deny it. But he doesn’t. Of course he bloody doesn’t. 

He sputters when Louis guides himself back into his mouth, but he flickers his eyes up at Louis and wraps his hands around the base of his dick, just a little too eager. He sucks greedily on the head, right back in action but so much more into it, works feverishly, because suddenly he’s set on giving the best blowie of his life and what doesn’t he do if not deliver?

Louis puts his hand on the headboard above him and tips his head forward with a groan, rocks his hips slightly as Harry bobs his head, swirls his tongue, does everything in his way. When Louis looks back at him (eyes hooded, only as good as two black pupils where they watch him closely, a sheen of perspiration chiselling all his features as his jaw hangs slack) Harry can see he’s on the edge. Right on the edge to tip over. 

He grabs for Harry’s throat again, squeezes a little tighter and Harry drops his hands to put them on his absolutely glorious thighs instead, gripping him even harder as Louis fucks into him. He feels blissed the fuck out, and he isn’t even the one coming. Louis is, though, and he’s the most beautiful fucking thing ever. 

He stutters a moan, holds his breath, then his hips jerk and suddenly Harry’s busy swallowing. 

He can feel Louis’ rough fingers on his skin when his Adam’s apple bobs with it.

Louis steps off him again and seats himself beside him, and Harry has to sit up and cough again. Fuck. How can he get so hard from getting _choked_? He never even considered this. A whole new world is ahead of him all of a sudden. Shining, shimmering, splendid. 

He’s trying to recollect himself, he is, but it’s weird, like his brain is all mushy and gooey. In a good way? In a cool way. He feels a high from how great he’s just done but just a little more spaced out than how that usually goes. Or, a lot. 

”Beautiful, my love,” Louis coos from his side, sounding slightly far away, but he feels him brushing sweaty curls of hair from his face. He tucks hair behind his ear like he’s dolling him up, pieces him back together as Harry swims in his warm puddle of pleasure a little longer, revels in it, feeling so very comfortably soft. ”Gorgeous. Was it alright? We don’t have to do that, we don’t. But you did amazing.”

”That was,” Harry starts, surprised by the rasp of his voice. Fucked up from cock fucking down his throat. ”Ah. It was incredible, it just, I’ve never-”

”I know, that’s okay. You were made for that, honestly.” Louis kisses his shoulder and Harry wants to purr. ”Absolutely stunning. Can I ask, my beautiful, because you should know… Do you know of subspace?”

Harry’s had his fair amount of late-night googling. Maybe watched a little bit too much porn. Basically like, some sort of detached, strange, fabulous, natural high kind of mental state. ”Mm. Kinda.”

”Yeah, that’s good. You might just get there if you’re up for playing like this.” He kisses his temple and Harry shuts his eyes, smiles lazily. He barely even did anything and still he feels soft and sleepy and so very pleased. ”You’re already drifting. So lovely.” He pecks his neck and lingers there. ”Can I eat you out?”

Harry cranes his neck with a little sigh. He adjusts his aching cock in his jeans. ”Yeah,” he breathes, waits for another kiss. ”Yes, please do.”

Louis’ hand is suddenly on his. And it grips him hard. ”Oh, but did I say you could touch yourself?”

Harry stills. He sucks in a breath. ”No. Uh, no. You didn’t.”

”What was that? Didn’t quite catch it.”

Okay. Right. He’s too much of a whiny mess for this. 

Harry leans into his warmth, but Louis leans away. Denies him. ”You didn’t, daddy. Um. ’M sorry. I shouldn’t have.”

”That’s right, hun, you shouldn’t.” He shuffles closer, hand still on Harry’s and then he starts palming him. Guides Harry to rub himself and he gasps and looks down on their hands. ”Maybe I won’t eat you out, then. Skip the sweetness. Get right on with it.” 

Harry’s still about ready to just bend over and let him, is the thing. Like, overly so. Like he was ready on tuesday at 10AM, specifically, actually. 

He leans in to whisper in his ear. ”Wanna be inside you so bad,” he muses and, oh, dear. ”Make the bed creak, rock it into the wall. Piss off me stupid neighbours a little.” 

Harry’s chest has gone back to heaving for shrill breaths. ”Yeah?”

Louis starts slowly working his way inside his fly, makes Harry choke on a moan. 

”Yeah,” he purrs on, ”wanna have you whimpering below me. Be loud and so pretty. Letting me know how it feels.”

He takes him out of his boxers, achy and wet with how worked up he is, and all he wants is his release. All he wants is Louis. Oh god, he’s right there and he still can’t get enough of him, still wants all of him all the time. 

Louis slides along his shaft, first feeling him out. Running slick precum up and down to wet sounds. He’s already so close he can taste it. 

”Wanna fuck you commando. Doggystyle.” He kisses his neck, and Harry’s own hand falls hopelessly to the side. ”Against the window, the wall. Over the counter. Want your feet lifting off the floor.” He wanks him faster, and Harry’s eyes flutter closed with a little moan, tummy wrenching, can’t think. ”Go slow, slow, tease you. Have you begging. Yeah? Bet you’ll go crazy how badly you’ll want it. Then I’ll go fast. Hard, deep, like I know you want it. How’s that, my beautiful? Sounds good?”

Harry kind of can’t breathe. Let alone reply. 

”Yeah,” he half-chuckles at Harry’s stunned silence, plants a wet kiss at the hinge of his jaw that makes him hitch on his breath, even that small of a touch. ”That sounds good doesn’t it? Fuck you on a table, in the bathroom. Want you to still feel it the next day. Walk around thinking about it, think about how daddy fucked you so good. Gonna make you come until you can’t anymore.”

Harry nuzzles his face into the crook of Louis’ neck, body locking up, and then comes, and comes, and comes, spilling over his hand as he keeps jerking him, all through the aftershocks. Harry’s gripping the sheets with the last of his strength when Louis slides off him. 

Suddenly he comes crashing over him, slotting himself on top of him and absolutely peppering him with kisses so that Harry can only giggle against his lips. 

”You came so much for me, my sweet,” he muses with soft appreciation in between the kisses. ”Wanna do so much more for you. We’ll wait. We can do it another time, let you rest - you deserve it, did such a good job.”

He’s still dazed, body still aching. He puts his hands on his waist, those amble curves he thought he could only ever go daydreaming about. Now he’s being complimented for being a perfectly well-behaved sub. Crazy how things work out. 

”Are you alright, H?” Louis asks him softly, kisses his forehead once. Okay, jesus, we’re already at the nickname state apparently, and Louis doesn’t even know Harry knows his actual name. ”Coming back to me? How many fingers am I holding up? Or just like, ehm, say something, maybe?”

Harry looks up at him with a dazed sort of wonder. He smiles like an idiot. Or, at least he feels like he does, because it’s a love-drunk sort of smile, if we’re all honest with ourselves. 

”Thank you,” he murmurs sheepishly, and gets gratefully silenced by a kiss. 

”Oh, none of that. Good I didn’t break you, that’d be sad and all, tragic story for he papers. Young coffee boy killed by sterling orgasm. Hey-” Louis presses his coated fingers to Harry’s lips, and he opens up for them, sucks each one off one after the other. ”Yeah, look at that. Still doing amazing. No coffee boys were harmed during the adult behaviours exhibited in Tommo The Tease’s shitty bedroom.”

Harry hums against his fingers. He feels so fucking content. This reassurance is clearly so important for a hurt and comfort kind of deal, and Louis is clearly acing it. 

Or, you know, _Tommo_. 

When he pops the last finger out, Harry licks his lips before he grins at him. ”And so are you.”

He gets a cocked eyebrow in response. ”You what now?”

”Amazing,” Harry clarifies, still not like, fully in the same universe. ”You’re doing amazing. You _are_ , amazing.”

Louis grins. He _aww_ s before pressing another tender kiss to his lips, and Harry wonders how butterflies found their way into his chest. Seems they live there now though. Cool, cool. 

Louis pulls away and rolls off him, scratching his hair down where it’s poking in questionable directions in the back. He looks an adorable, sleepy hedgehog. 

”Well now, Harold. You could grab the shower first if you want. Just down the other end of the hall.” He gets up with a sigh. ”Where did I put me shirt…?”

After some brisk searching he’s donned the joggers and the top, and Harry’s found and somehow wiggled into his own shirt in the meantime. He feels like clay, like pink Play-doh, maybe. With glitter speckles, so it’s nothing particularly bad, just. Annoying to move. A first world problem. 

”Do I carry you?” Louis offers, and Harry snorts. ”I mean, don’t laugh, I totally could. Carry you over the doorstep like a proper gentleman. Lay my jacket out in the bathroom. Usually just put a towel down if the tiles get wet, but, you know, it is what it is.”

Harry’s so stunned by all his strange wittiness. ”I’m _fine_. But.” He shrugs. ”Don’t knock it ’til you’ve tried it.”

Louis narrows his eyes at him. Then he waves him off. ”When I fuck you properly, I will. Treat that precious little bum with some respect.” He winks, then walks ahead of him out in the hall. ”I’ll just chill in me lounge. Clifford’s probably lonesome, old bugger, anyway. Use anything you want in the bathroom. All yours.”

Harry calls a thanks and Louis calls a whatever. Eventually, he makes it up from the bed, staggers out and into the shower. He’s not sure how he does it and he probably deserves an award. 

The spray feels wonderful on his body, works to wake him up when he turns it cold, works to wash away his sin when he turns it hot. (This is a blatant lie. He feels as good as a catholic school girl that just asked the fit teacher to wrap the rosary around her neck and fuck her over the altar, and that’s pretty bad on the sin-scale, as far as he knows.

At least he didn’t reach the ultimate level of intimacy-sin. He still wants Louis inside of him. Badly.)

He pulls a soft towel down from the rack and wraps it around himself. Padding out on the tiles, he looks at his reflection in the fogged up mirror. He’s got dark red love bites on his neck, and he’ll just have an absolutely great time getting on the bus with that and his wholesome shopping bag. Contrasts, contrasts. 

Across the entire squeaky surface of the mirror he writes _Miss u already Louis_ in his best handwriting (fingerwriting?) before he gets dressed in his clothes again. 

He’s a mad lad. 

He ties his hair back with an elastic, and exits the steamy bathroom to go to stand on the doorstep to the lounge. Instantly he wishes he could take a picture of the scene. But that’d be creepy. It’s just, that, well. 

Louis’ on his phone with Clifford snuggled up to him in the sofa, a guitar on the wall behind them, next to a falling The Killers poster and an old tea cup stands on the coffee table. 

And it’s so… _normal_. 

But that’s just the _thing_.

Louis and his otherworldly charm is great and all - insanely great - but seeing him like this just feels so, well. Homely. It makes Harry super hella fond, is what he’s saying, and he almost feels he has to hold a hand to his chest to stop his heart from escaping like it wants to do, a lot these days. 

”Oh, you’re leaving?” Louis pipes up when he notices him.

Harry shrugs, smiling. ”Better take that almond milk home.”

”Another hot date for the night, huh.” He puts his phone down and carefully sneaks away from underneath the sleepy boy. ”And here I am only checking the footie news-” he waves himself off. ”Not important. How was that shower?”

”It was nice,” Harry smiles, and Louis kisses him. 

”Yeah? Saved some hot water for me, right?”

His fingers linger on him as he passes him by, walks up and into the bathroom. ”Absolutely not,” Harry jokes and Louis scoffs before the door has closed and clicked to a lock. ”Um, so. Will you come by the shop some more?”

”Sure will, Coffee Boy,” Louis tells him through the door, and Harry takes it as a success. ”Whenever I need extra mighty power to stand a client, which might just be every single day. My favourite employee there knows just how to make the greatest cuppa, as it so happens.” He hears clothes drop to the floor. ”He always remembers my order too, it’s mad.”

Harry’s already blushing, then he starts thinking about Louis’ getting out of his boxers in there, so he has to briskly think about other things. ”Sounds like a nice enough guy.” He walks out in the hall where his grocery bag sits, pathetic as always.

”Sure is,” Louis replies, then there’s silence. ” _What the fook_ ,” comes suddenly in the heaviest accent, and Harry breaks out in a childish grin. 

He slips on his boots, jumping around on one leg for balance. He hears the bathroom door unlock and open. 

”Either there’s a ghost in me house”, Louis calls, standing on the doorstep, ”or you know a little more than you’re letting on, you sly little princess.”

Harry’s giggling when he shuts the door behind himself and starts down the stairs. 

 

 

A loud knocking disturbs Harry. 

”Harry!” Liam’s hollering from the other side of his door. ”Turn that bloody porn music off or so help me god!”

How utterly rude!

Harry rolls over in bed and taps down the volume on his phone, forcing Lana Del Rey to keep it a little cool, which is just an insult and a tragedy for even a bystander to get to witness to be honest. Never silence such a goddess, or any of the other music Harry likes for that matter; there’s been Børns, a little Arctic Monkeys, a lot The Neighbourhood. Well. He’s having a problematic weekend. 

The reason it’s problematic is because it has a problem, and the problem with the weekend is, it’s the weekend. Weekends mean he doesn’t work, won’t be at the coffee shop at all, and if we add up the facts…

Weekends mean no Louis. 

They used to be fine. Fun, even, what he looked forward to, as one should. He could do anything and it was much more pleasant than slaving by coffee machines holding cups that are either too cold or too hot and bickering with his favourite Irish co-worker. Sometimes he even watched movies that weren’t anything close to the feel-good quality they should be and even that was more pleasant. (He needs happy-go-lucky, sprinkles-on-top with some sort of Legally-Blonde-esque empowerment element over it, for the record, and still watching things like whatever action Liam was drooling over made his entire night just because he got to chill with his pal.)

Now he’s so. Fucking. _Bored_. 

So bored it _hurts_ and it’s like _this_ is the punishment that is employment in adulthood, and the weekdays are now turned into his fun times. 

He’s literally looking forward to monday. 

And yeah, he’s debated texting Louis. He has, but then he’s deemed it uncool. Then he’s debated some more. Had breakfast, debated, Facebook-stalked him, looked through all his pictures, debated, wanked, looked at their conversation, looked at his pictures again, came, felt embarrassed and stopped debating and put on a playlist which is apparently labelled _porn music_.

How scandalising. He’s losing his mind.

”You’re a buzzkill,” Harry tells him in a drawl, kicking his socked feet up towards the ceiling and wiggles his toes. 

Liam sighs exasperatedly. ”You’re a _horndog_ ,” he whines, and Harry pulls a face like what-the-fuck- _no_.

”I’m nothing but a _hound dog_ , Liam,” Harry informs him in an educational voice. He’s just, like, distracted. He grabs his phone from the bedside table. ”But _you’re_ the one crying all the time.”

”Am not,” Liam defends, as if Elvis Presley could be lying; how could he ever not be trusted? Rude. ”I’m trying to help, aren’t I? I’m being helpful?”

Insert a dozen more question marks, because Liam gets genuinely concerned at the same time as genuinely confused. 

”You are,” Harry calls, taps Hound Dog by Elvis in Spotify and turns up the volume again. ”Is this better?!”

He’s pressing his face to the door yelling now. ”The neighbours will knock on the ceiling with a broom!”

”No one can complain about the king of rock!!!”

Liam seems to give up then. Harry likes to think he Elvis-dances his way away from his door, wiggly hips and all. Actually, he’s sure of it. Liam’s a good sport like that. 

Later that evening is better. Later, angels hear his sorrows. 

He gets a text. 

louis: _miss you too btw_

He’s about to go to sleep when it happens, and it doesn’t help calm him down the slightest. His heart actually bursts out of his chest and runs halfway to Louis’ apartment. 

(Then it stops and walks back in shame. Bounces, actually. Still excited, yeah, quite.)

harry: _”Awww”_

It doesn’t even to begin explain his feelings, it’s just like, hard to get his hopes up in vain. 

Listen. He’s happy. He just kind of wishes he was so much more to him— No, seriously, he’s fine, he swears he is but, he just. 

He just wishes he could call Louis his own and for Louis to proudly call him his as well. Know that he’s for keepers. It’s accompanied by this weird feeling of that it’s not a thought worth letting go either. He hasn’t touched his sad playlist yet, after all. 

louis: _oh no I’ve gone too cheesy_

Oh dear, Harry likes very much that he’s brought that out of him then. However that happened. Like maybe he’s not actually hopeful in vain. 

harry: _You’re just a big softie, I know it :)x_

He clutches his phone to his chest and thinks of Louis doing the same. 

As if. As fucking if. 

Still cute visuals though. 

Sterling. 

 

 

Harry’s thirty minutes from his lunch break when he’s about to give up on life. 

Granted, Louis didn’t text him more but, granted, neither did Harry. Could never find something with quite the right amount of charm, or nonchalance, or even a good (bad) joke to break the ice he feels like he somehow might have formed (maybe something about how he needs some piece of information _for science class_ , like say, a dick pic, because they _have chemistry_ , nudge wink). 

Louis has these qualities naturally, and it’s just so unfair. Unfair how he’s painfully much cooler than Harry and plays it off like he totally isn’t. That only goes to show just how cool he is. That’s how coolness™ works. 

Harry wants to sob a little into the iced caramel macchiato he’s adding cream on. All the names he’s writing are boring. They don’t have a cool french tang, none of them are royal, except for like, this one guy who wanted to actually be called Queen? And Harry eyed over his rainbow shoulder-bag with a smile and all that, but. Fuck it. He’s over it. 

”Thirty minutes ’til lunch break,” Niall reminds him cheerfully when he’s started sloping like a useless bag of beans, which for the record is close to what he feels like. ”Let’s get that last rush in.”

_Sigh._

Harry doesn’t even like his job, is the thing. It’s boring at the same time as it’s stressful. It’s messy and wet and both hot and cold and his hands never seem to get used to any of the options available. His nail varnish always chips and his fingers end up looking all pruney when he’s been by the steam for too long. 

And his bun keeps falling out. And his clothes suck. And he wants to go home to Liam and play good music and stuff his face with lots of delicious food. 

”Come on, Haz,” Niall wheezes weirdly at him when she elbows his side, which is kind of unnecessary and, ouch. ”New customer.”

”Think anyone would notice if I crawled out the back door?” Harry plots aloud. He smirks at her appalled expression, at the escape-plan being grinded in his brain. ”Would you cover for me? Create a distraction.” When she doesn’t join in on his conspiring - just stares at him - he throws his arms out. ”For God’s sake, Niall, just juggle some mugs!”

She blinks at him. Puts real emphasis in the words. ”It’s your _favourite_ customer,” she tells him through gritted teeth before she turns around, her ponytail always almost slapping Harry in the face and he looks up and, oh!

He mouths it too. Oh. Just, oh, _oh_ dear, _oh-_ kay. 

Louis’ tapping the desk when Niall makes finally it over there and Harry stares, dumbfound. Feeling dumb. He was founded as dumb. Victim not found dead, but dumb. 

Yeah. That. 

”Hey so, have you decided?” she asks him in the typical polite-voice, and Harry knows the answer. 

Uhm. He _thinks_ he knows the answer. 

”Some tea if that’s alright,” says Louis, and Harry feels an entire crowd of people gasp in his head. Plot twist of the century. And he thought he had him all figured out, what is this sorcery? 

She addresses to a row of neatly stacked metal tins behind her with big, flowy, exaggerated movements. ”Flavour?”

”Well.” Louis cocks his hip and it’s a work of art. ”What’ve you got?”

Niall looks to Harry then. Harry wants to scream no. And he doesn’t know why because his whole body is screaming yes. 

_And yeah so he might want to stuff his mouth with other things than takeaway._

”Hazza, would you like to take over?” she asks him in an obviously faked version of the polite-voice, and Harry flicks his eyes to Louis. 

Louis’ eyes are already on him. He’s grinning. 

”Nice to meet you, _Hazza_ ,” he says, and Harry has to take a breath, and he also has to step up. Niall passes him with a little reassuring squeeze of his arm. (How can he have been so obvious even _she’s_ picked up on it?) ”Would you kindly present your fine collection?”

”Didn’t take you for a tea person,” Harry mumbles, mostly to himself, but of course Louis picks up on it because that’s a thing people do about him, apparently. 

”Ah, yeah. Don’t tell anyone, I have a bad reputation to protect.” Okay, but like, why is he so _lovely?_ How to keep the element of surprise: be Louis Tomlinson. A russian roulette of sterling human qualities. ”Nah, I have tea every morning. Only started me coffee buying sprees because… ehm, well, some people just take the lot out of you, don’t they? Changed you as a person, stuff like that.”

Harry can relate. 

”Sure,” he says, and he gestures over the tins. ”So. Can I recommend you some green vanilla?”

”Don’t insult me, boyo,” Louis scoffs. ”Do I look like someone who likes vanilla?”

Harry shrugs with downturned lips. ”There’s no bondage tea.”

”Well.” Louis strokes his scruff. ”Anything black?”

Harry holds up the Earl Grey. ”Earl _gay?_ ”

His lips hold back from quirking. ”You’re doing amazing, sweetie,” he states. ”How’s some Yorkshire then?”

Harry presents the tin like an award. Sometimes he wants to be one of those cute ladies that open briefcases with prices on shitty game shows. ”Taa-daa.”

”Oh shit, what’d I win?” Louis now grins, leaning back up. ”Hope you’re the prize. Think I promised you a good carrying, didn’t I? Would just have to be all the way home.”

Harry inevitably puts the tin down too loud. ”Funny.”

”I’m a funny guy,” Louis teases. 

”Hm.” He opens the lid and shakes his head at himself. Professionalism. ”Milk or sugar?”

”Dash of milk,” he says then, and he watches Harry as he works. It makes him all tingly and hot, so much so he can’t tell if it starts on his skin or in his chest. ”When’s your break?”

Harry glances at Niall before he glances at the clock (she gives him a suddenly eager thumbs up at the attention). It’s now slightly closer to escaping a certain death. ”Like twenty minutes.”

”Then,” Louis says, sagely, ”I’ll just sit here - in this, lovely, _lovely_ scenery - and enjoy my fine cuppa and today’s entertainment being, my Instagram feed,” he leans in close when he pulls the cup from Harry’s fingers to his chest, ”and the sight of you squirming just because I’m looking at you.”

He lingers, gaze successfully burning every inch of Harry’s body even though he thinks he’s more so drowning in those icy blue eyes. Then he turns, carefully picks a spot by the wall, sinks into the seat with his phone and immediately shoots Harry a smirk and a nod. 

Well. 

Fun while it lasted, being optimistic about the future and that. But Harry’s done for now. 

Louis will tear him apart and Harry might just thank him for it if he can only remember how to speak afterwards. 

 

 

Thing is, Harry doesn’t do well under pressure. 

He needs to rehearse what to order for takeaway or else he’ll run at a blank. He never lets a driver stop for him at the pedestrian walk because he’s certain he’d trip and die and cock up their day. Once upon a time when he had to call in for this job interview, he made notes on a paper and wrote down the clearly most easily forgotten details: his own bloody name, for instance. 

Louis watches him like he wants to devour him, is the other thing. Like he’s a hunter and Harry’s the prey, when really he’s just stressing around spilling coffee thinking about how Louis’ stubble would feel on his inner thighs, about how he asked to eat him out last time and how he never did and how that would be. How he would do it. Where. How long. How much he wants it now. 

He thinks about being pinned down on the bed, tied up to the headboard. Slapped around, filled up, messed about. Surrendering everything. Giving him anything, and how Louis would still ask for more, how he would still continue to want him. 

He thinks about the empty backroom. The suddenly three minutes until his break. 

It makes his situation all the more stressful. 

Louis knows when the time is up too, because he keeps looking at the clock then promptly at Harry, making sure he knows it too. And when time is really up, Louis is more on the dot with arriving at the desk than Harry is to escape through the door. 

”Thank you, it was lovely-”

Louis trips. 

It can’t be real. 

He spills tea down Harry’s unacceptably ugly work shirt, and he gasps like an old posh lady who’s just heard about how Gertrude at bingo used the wrong detergent the other day. 

”My, my!” he goes, puts the cup down and puts his hands to his cheeks. The tea’s gone cold and Harry pulls at his shirt, suddenly clinging to his chest. His butterfly is bleeding through the fabric. ”I’m so very sorry, that was a complete accident, I swear it.”

It was _not_. 

He’s _lying_. 

Louis’ suddenly walking to cross around the culprit, and he waves Harry over. ”Come on, lad, come on. I’ll help you clean up. Least I can do, damn.”

”Um.” Harry silently rushes over to him, squeezes past a wide-eyed and huge-grinned Niall and they slink past the door to the backroom with Louis’ arm guiding him by his lower back. ”Alright then.”

As soon as they’re out and the door’s swung closed behind him, Louis looks around, takes in the scenery of tiles and messy cupboard. ”Now, then, where’s the bathroom?”

”Just down there.” Harry points the way. ”I’m a little- confused,” he murmurs to no response, just a squeeze of his waist. ”Guess I’ll just- go along, then. Um. Alright. Okay. ”

It’s without another response. 

Once they’re inside, Louis locks the door behind them and - naturally, _obviously_ \- presses Harry right up against it. 

Harry gulps so that his throat bobs. Louis smirks at his big eyes, then this, down at his chest. 

”Should get you out of that shirt,” he muses, pulling it up over Harry’s tummy and chest with a hand that seems to usually get what it wants. ”Messy, messy boy. Get it over your head for me.”

Harry can only comply, all possible words stuck in his throat. But he wants it. Whatever’s happening, god, he just wants it. 

When he’s tackled it over his head, the shirt drops with a wet slap to the floor. It’s not good for much anymore, especially not for them in this moment. (Or ever; it’s appalling.)

”Actually,” Louis purrs, hands in his own pockets, ”those trousers are a little spilled on as well, aren’t they? Take them off, love,”

Harry does. His hands are all synonyms of quick and nimble as he pops the button. 

They drop around his ankles and Louis chuckles, just frankly at his eagerness to follow orders so promptly, it seems. ”Better step out of those shoes too, then.”

Harry’s down to his boxers and blushing, messy bun now more loose than ever and with unruly curls sprung free. He’s already getting hard. Louis’ already smirking like he’s onto something wicked. 

”What about me, now? Favours for favours, shouldn’t it be, eh?” He looks up to Harry’s eyes. ”Could you undo my zipper for me, maybe?”

Harry’s breath hitches. 

The bathroom is starting to feel like a sauna and he’s definitely a little hot and bothered, or, a lot; definitely _a lot_ bothered actually. Or _horny_ , is probably the right word actually to be honest, if you’d pardon his French. (Je m’apelle Harry, et j’appartiens à Louis.)

Legitimate thoughts. Right. Zipper. 

He tentatively reaches out and pulls it down, a small sigh of relief coming from Louis. Harry breathes him in. His hand is so close he can feel the heat of him. 

”Is it just me,” Louis starts, puts his hand atop Harry’s, and presses his palm to his bulge, ”or is this moving awfully slow?”

Harry’s throat feels a little thick so he just nods, and Louis lets go of his hand again, too soon. 

”Then take off your boxers and bend over that sink, my pretty.”

Harry’s dizzy. He slips the waistband past his jutting hip bones whilst Louis slips his shirt over his head then takes a step around Louis in the crowded space. 

”Cat got your tongue?” Louis asks and Harry meets his eyes in the mirror. Then he looks down and he’s jerking off. Insert distressed face emoji. 

”No,” Harry blurts out, puts his hands on the basin and can’t seem to find the strength to look away. ”Just- thinking about my shirt. On the floor. The poor thing.”

Louis chuckles. ”You’re funny.” Suddenly he grabs the inside of Harry’s _sensitive thigh_ and lifts it up, knee now balancing on the edge of the basin to that his legs are spread. His stomach twists. ”Isn’t it so much better without?”

He crouches and Harry doesn’t have time to think of a response. Suddenly Louis’ spreading him open, Harry holds his breath, and then Louis’ eating him out like his life depended on it and Harry lets out the filthiest moan he’s ever created and it rings out in the space like the echo of a fucking cave. 

Louis immediately spanks him like it’s to scold him, and Harry jolts, has to bite his lip to not make another sound. The harsh sound of skin hitting skin is accompanied by his cock twitching against his tummy. ”Keep quiet,” Louis demands, squeezing his ass. ”Don’t want anyone to find us, do you? Find little good boy Hazza bent over for me?”

That’s a concoction for disaster. Harry naked and bent over a basin and forced not to make a sound is also a concoction for disaster, though. 

But Harry can’t possibly keep quiet when Louis starts licking into him again and splitting him open like he does. He resorts to biting his finger as his body _quivers_ with each movement, each stroke, the strength to keep still. 

When Louis eventually leans back and Harry hears a plastic wrapper it takes him a second too long to even realise he’s putting on a condom. It’s not like it matters, it just catches him off guard how caught off guard he gets, like he’s drifting away, and oh, he’s kind of holding his breath, and it kind of makes him a little loopy. 

And, oh, he kind of wants to be choked again. 

”Got no lube, my darling,” Louis coos from somewhere behind him and Harry sighs. ”No, no, it’s okay, we’ll make due if you want. Spit? Have you done that before?”

Harry wants to ask what it matters when he’s so horny he could start humping a porcelain washbasin any moment now. He might start drooling and dripping over said porcelain. ”Go ahead.”

”No,” Louis chastises, ”none of that. Have you not done it before? I’ll just be more careful then. I’m just not gonna have you get hurt.”

Harry shuts his eyes. He wants it, wants it, wants it. ”I haven’t, just lube. It’s fine, like when I’ve- when I’ve _gotten off_...”

He stops, suddenly too awkward to talk about his wanking-habits. He feels Louis’ hands on his ass though. ”That’s a nice picture, Harry. Really nice. Tell me what you do when you want to make it feel good.” 

”Just, um.” He wets his lips thoughtfully. This is a weird conversation. Hmm. Can’t back out now. ”You know, I just. Put my fingers in my mouth and get like spit on them. Then sorta, tease? A little before I go in, just one and then two.” He feels Louis now-wet index finger play by his entrance and he almost moans over that alone. He clears his throat a little. ”Is that- weird to talk about?”

”Tell me what else you do.”

Harry readjusts his stance. ”Oh, god, um. I guess I, touch myself while I get used to it.” Louis slips the second finger in and Harry grits his teeth for a second. ”Just, jerk myself, pinch my nipples or something I dunno,” he adds in a mumble. 

Louis’ hand slinks around his waist and suddenly wraps around his leaking cock. ”Yeah?”

Harry lifts his head up with a little groan, sees Louis face in the mirror, absolutely devilish. Well. Even the devil was an angel once. 

”Fuck, Louis,” Harry moans, and Louis kisses the bottom of his spine. 

”You’ve never said my name before,” he acknowledges in a murmur, pumps his fingers to his best ability while he slides his hand along. ”Sounds good from you. Wanna hear you beg for me to let you come.” 

He playfully raises his eyebrows momentarily to Harry’s suddenly hopeful reflection.

”Not yet, though.”

Harry lets his head fall forward again with another groan. Louis presses his lips to his spine once more and they buzz against his skin when he chuckles. 

”Don’t be grumpy, baby. Why don’t you take your hair down, looks so nice on you.”

Harry pulls the elastic from out of his bun and long locks tumble down in his face, and he blows a strand up from over his eyes. Louis has stood up behind him and is levelling his crotch to Harry’s ass. 

”Gorgeous,” he compliments softly and reaches to brush more hair out of his face. The tenderness of the touch distracts Harry as he starts pushing inside and he scrunches his face up, but Louis presses his finger to his lips, shushing him silent. 

Holy. Fucking. Shit. Louis is actually inside him. Louis is actually about to fuck him and _how is Harry supposed to not moan like it’s the best thing he’s ever had?_

His head falls forward again and he chokes back any sounds that threaten to escape. He almost fails when he feels Louis’ fingers slide from his V-shape up his chest to pinch at one of his nipples. 

Almost. Which means he totally does, at least some sort of helpless grunt, which means Louis spanks him again. 

”You just cannot obey, can you,” Louis tuts as he rolls his nipple between his fingers, moving on to the next and Harry’s absolutely _throbbing_ as Louis goes sinking in until he feels his hip bones against his skin. ”It’s like you want a punishment. _Do you_ wish to be punished?”

Harry’s curling his hands into fists atop the cold porcelain. He’s not entirely sure how to answer that, because, news flash: _oh my god Louis’ dick is stretching him open_. ”Whatever you want, daddy.”

”Fuck.” Louis brushes hair from his face again but it’s to gather it in a handful which he clenches his hand in. ”Watch yourself. Just watch.”

Harry sees in the mirror how he spits down onto his dick when he pulls out again and it drips down from his lips, works to lube him up more when he pushes inside him again and Harry bites down hard on his lip. It’s sore, bit tight, and still. He can’t possibly spread his legs enough for Louis as he thrusts into him. He still wants to please him more than anything else. 

”Fuck, you’re so tight,” Louis marvels and his fingers tighten in his hair. Harry’s just darting his half-lidded eyes between his face, gorgeous as ever, and where their bodies connect in a gradually increasing pace. ”Feels so good. You’re amazing.”

Harry would return the compliment if only he could _talk_. He’s kind of busy just breathing normally, which is in fact a hard task when the man of your dreams is fucking you, but he makes due. He’s still alive. Kind of. Maybe _too_ much so. 

When all the sounds in the echoey room turn into Harry’s rapid breaths and their skin slapping together, Harry’s on the brink of exploding. Swears he is. He grinds into the empty air, desperate for a touch and whimpers quietly, so needy, brutally needy so much that it almost aches. 

Louis’ hand comes down from where it was fisted in his hair, smears across his face to then wrap around the front of his throat. Harry chokes on whatever other sounds were planned to leave. 

”Getting selfish, are we?” Louis questions and he squeezes a little, makes Harry suck in a breath, suddenly so restricted. ”Said I wanted you to beg, yeah? But you won’t get to make a sound yet. Not a peep, and not a touch until then, babe, you got it?” 

He releases and Harry coughs, but he zips his mouth shut immediately after. His heart is beating hard in his chest, like a bloody steel hammer just from that little moment. He’ll feel the phantom touch of it for the rest of the night, he’s sure, feel it and think a little too much and have to wank off in the shower. Oh well. 

He watches in awe the sheen of sweat on Louis’ sternum, how his hips snap into him. Harry’s so close to the mirror he suddenly realises he’s fogged up the glass; he’d be drawing so many little hearts and scribbles of Louis’ name if he wasn’t so fully lost in the pleasure. 

Louis thrusts in deep, stays there, and Harry thinks for a second he’s came but he makes no sound other than a choked off noise, and then he pulls out. Harry’s about to complain but suddenly he jerks him up by the shoulders. ”Come here,” he demands, pressing Harry back-to-chest to him. ”Closer. That’s it.”

He wraps one arm around Harry’s waist and Harry places his own on top, just keeps it there, and Louis guides himself back inside of him so that Harry gasps and winces into the mirror. But Louis holds him, keeps him steady and kisses his jaw, and the wince melts into another expression, eyes almost fluttering closed instead. 

”Now tell me what you need,” Louis murmurs right into his ear, hair waving with his breath, and his free hand closes around his throat again. Harry gulps and his hand bobs. ”Tell me everything. Quietly, everything you want.”

”God,” Harry moans, _quietly_ , and Louis starts moving slowly again. ”No,” he mumbles, ”faster. Yeah. Need it fast.” 

Harry’s heart is rabbiting in his chest, and soon enough, so are the thrusts. 

His one knee is still perched on the basin and the other one is straining to keep him balanced on the floor, but it feels so good he barely feels the ache, just feels how well Louis’ fucking him and angling the thrusts to try and find his sweet spot. So close. So fucking close. 

His other hand searches behind himself blindly and places itself over his plump waist, tries to guide him even more closer. ” _Fuck_ , Louis,” he whimpers, and Louis bites his shoulder and hums. ”Faster. Harder. Please, god, yes.”

”Mhm?” Louis murmurs against his skin, holding him harder, _doing him_ harder. ”That’s good? That’s what you want?”

“Oh my god,” is all Harry can say, “you’re gonna make me come. I’m gonna come.”

His dick is leaking where it’s angled towards his stomach, smearing beads of precum over his butterfly tattoo like it’s wet from dews on flowers. Very poetic. Kind of not fully present enough to grasp that concept.

“I haven’t touched you,” Louis acknowledges and squeezes the hand on his throat, and Harry can only whine, even his breathing gone raspy. “Gonna come anyway? Hm?” He bares his teeth against his neck. “Come just from my dick up your tight little hole?”

He feels it in waves, how the tide of his orgasm almost washes over him completely to fully engulf him. But he’s not quite there. He really, really, _really_ needs to be touched. 

“I can’t,” he gasps, makes little whimpery noises with his ruined, rough voice. “Please.”

“There’s that begging I like,” Louis coos and his hand around his waist brushes down to ghost atop his v-line. “Like it a lot. Can I have some more, my sweet?”

“Please,” Harry chokes out and Louis’ hand drifts further down. “Oh, _god_ , please. Daddy, I need it, need it.”

His hand wraps around his cock and Harry’s eyes roll back with a moan. “That’s it, love. That’s it, keep talking.”

He jerks his hand and Harry’s hips are already spasming, drifting between consciousness, edges of his vision blurring out. “Please, fuck me. Faster, daddy, _fuck_ , need it so much.” Tide’s coming in. He leans back completely into Louis’ warmth, his touch, his trust. “So bad, I just. Oh my _god_ , yes, _please_.”

Distantly, he knows it’s a really good thing Louis’ holding him steady the whole time through. His orgasm hits him like a freight train.

He’s not sure how long he’s been out of it - milliseconds or minutes - when he blinks his eyes at Louis suddenly in front of him, but he’s just set him down on the edge of the sink and it’s really fucking cold against his bare ass, like did he honestly have to? The fuck? Harry hisses involuntarily, and Louis kisses him with a smile.

“So, so good,” he marvels, like he’s in the middle of a sentence, and Harry has to lazily smile back when he pecks his forehead and then his nose. “You’re absolutely amazing, Harry. Stunning.”

He’s brushing the knuckles of his hand against his shoulder and arm, so gentle, so sweet. So much passion Harry just wants to purr and lean into the touch. He’s very dozy. Could go for a nap.

Then he notices Louis’ still hard, because he didn’t come yet, and Harry needs to save the day. “Why didn’t you go on?” he drawls, and his voice is so fucking _gone_. Okay, shit, so he really has a thing for the rough stuff now, maybe should go easier with squeezing his vocal cords and all that though. 

Louis shrugs half-heartedly and takes a step closer, places himself in between his still weak thighs. “Glad you’re back,” he grins. “Missed you lots and all that. Lonely when you drift off into space.” He only grins wider when Harry pouts. ”Did the aliens say hi to me?”

Harry slaps his arm and Louis chuckles. ”Piss off,” he drawls. 

”Rude,” Louis smirks in reply. He runs a hand through Harry’s tousled up hair to try and untangle the knots he’s made. ”Well, see now, you’re literally not even present when you get like that. So hot, love, literally so fucking hot but like a bloody ragdoll as well.” Harry almost blushes but Louis has time to reassure him with a kiss again. “Have to get you to come back to me, before. Feels weird otherwise.”

“Doesn’t fulfill the C?” Harry asks hazily, and almost sounds like he makes no sense, but he actually does. He’s not a complete alien. (Some sort of hybrid though, probably.)

Louis has taken a paper towel and is drying his hand off from when Harry literally came on it, and he raises his eyebrows at him. “Right,” he confirms in some sort of surprise. “Consensual. Look at that, you listen to me. I like it.”

“Surprise.” Harry’s not into being bro-pals bantering right now though. “You can still fuck me, you know.”

Louis freezes. “Yeah?” he asks in a whisper, then he chucks the paper ball in the bin. “You sure? Not sore, or anything?”

Harry shrugs too. “I am, but. It’s alright, babe.” He grins. “I like it.”

There’s another type of surprise on Louis’ face. “Shit, you really want that.” He presses closer, lips to Harry’s neck. “You really wanna feel it after, do you?”

Harry hums approvingly as Louis kisses his neck. He somehow has the courage to snake his hands around Louis’ to squeeze his bum, that absolutely glorious bum, and he thinks it’s not a big deal. 

But the tiny whimpery moan from Louis pressed into his neck makes his stomach flutter how real it sounds. 

Oh. Oh he really likes that, then. 

They’re silent for a beat as Louis stands with his face burrowed in Harry’s neck and Harry’s hands fondling his perfect ass. 

”You should ride me sometime,” Harry points out. Louis just scoffs. 

”Piss off,” he mutters through a grin, pushes off, and parts Harry’s thighs to guide himself back inside him. 

Harry tips backwards with a little yelp and Louis, of course, seizes the moment by hooking his ankles over his shoulders. Okay. Alright, that makes sense, that’s _fine_. 

”Fuck,” Louis swears and starts thrusting into him again, pace growing quicker much faster and Harry’s bent in half, just taking it, and loving it still. 

Louis’ fingers on his one hand digs into the top of his thigh to pull him in closer, even though he’s fucking him into the mirror all the same. Bodies flush together, sticky with sweat, and Harry just loves watching Louis’ beautiful face through it. Loves how he grits his teeth and works so hard on chasing his orgasm. 

”So close,” Louis grunts, looks up and caresses Harry’s cheek with his thumb on his free hand and Harry’s just white-knuckling the edge of the washbasin. The eye contact is so intense it feels like electricity. ”Fuck. You’re so hot.”

Harry’s a sucker for praise. And so. He kisses him. 

Louis’ breath hitches, body locking up, and then he comes. Comes while kissing him. Comes, because he kisses him?

He pulls away with a gasp and looks down where he’s buried deep in him and spilling into the condom. He mutters some more unintelligible curses and Harry brushes sweat-damp strands of hair from his forehead while he comes down from it, just because. He’s so beautiful. It’s like, hard to _not_ touch him at all times. 

Louis pulls out and chucks the condom in the bin together with the lovely sperm-induced paper towel (aww they can be a family) before he yanks his pants back up and seats himself on the basin too. ”Shit.”

Harry chuckles airily. ”Yeah. _Shit._ ”

He can’t stop smiling when he says it though. He’s so blissed out, it should be a crime. 

Uhm, well, maybe sex in semi-public places is indeed a crime. He should check with Niall. Or, not, if he wants to get another safe month’s salary. Not mention it to anyone ever again, probably. 

But oh my god he never wants to stop talking and thinking about it. 

”I can’t believe you,” Louis marvels suddenly, still a little out of breath and coming down from the high, and he shakes his head to himself. ”You’re like- everything I’ve ever wanted. _That_ was. Can’t believe we just did that.”

Harry snaps his head to him and tries to see if he’s joking. And how much. ”Ditto,” he murmurs, tries to sound sweet and gentle but he wants to _scream_. Scream how it’s mutual but he never- he didn’t think _Louis_ would _think that_. Or _say it out loud_. 

He kind of got the impression he does this a lot. The king of hook-ups and getting boys to fall at his knees, literally and figuratively. 

Is Harry, a _rarity?_

”I wanted you the whole time,” Harry continues, and Louis actually smiles so big and genuine. 

”Yeah?”

”Since the first time I saw you. Before we talked. Then when we talked, even more.”

”Keep thinking I must be dreaming,” Louis continues huskily, and Harry just kind of stares at him, so he lightens the mood. ”Or, you really have to be an alien.”

”Because I’m-” Harry winks, ”out of this world?”

Louis nods his head from side to side. ”Something like that, sure, yeah.”

And Harry can’t stop smiling. It kind of hurts his cheeks. But in a good way. 

Louis sighs and hops off the basin, finds his shirt and pulls it over his head. ”What are you gonna do about that, then?” he asks and points at Harry’s absolutely deceased shirt. 

Harry shrugs. ”I’m sure I have a spare one,” he says. ”Bit more concerned about missing my lunch break, though.”

He’s not sure how much of it has passed, anyway. He could have been in this sex dungeon for hours as far as he knows. 

Louis clasps a hand over his mouth, mock-aghast. ”Gasp, can’t believe I’ve been so inconsiderate.” He picks up Harry’s trousers and boxers and hand them to him. ”Hey, you’re a fan of my boy Clifford, aren’t you?”

Harry hops off and furrows his brow at him, stepping into his boxers (his ass kind of hurts, but in a good way; a cool way). ”Of course. He is a _dog_ , so don’t know how you could like, not stan him.”

”So,” Louis continues, ”swing by the shop and you can have a proper cuddle session. Maybe that’ll make it up to you.” He tries to bop his nose but Harry swerves the attack. ”Put a smile back on that face.”

”I _am_ smiling,” Harry defends and pulls up his trousers, only smiling wider. ”I’m not upset about a _work shirt_ , Louis.”

”Whatever, Harold. I’ll text you the address and you can come whenever.” He bumps his back. ”Now go and get a nutritious salad in you, or whatever it is you proper posh people do.”

Harry’s just frowning through his smile now, like, what? ”You honestly think a posh person would work in a coffee shop?”

”What?” Louis chuckles. ”Daddy’s card can’t pay for all that Gucci, can it now?”

Which is clearly some sort of rich-girl-joke, but still, they stop for a second. Because that- well. _That_.

Harry turns to the mirror to fix his hair. ”Would _daddy_ take me out for a real date sometime, though?”

It’s good he doesn’t have to look at him when he says it. 

Ridiculous. Ridiculous, but he kind of hardcore means it. Means it with every ounce of his being, currently wanting to be - _screaming_ to be - Louis’ everything. Or at least like, someone he dates and calls his own for like, at least a night at a time. 

That’s enough. Quite enough for now, because at least it something, at least it’s a start. 

But then Louis’ behind him, arms closing around his waist and his chin on his shoulder. ”Daddy will,” he promises, and pecks his neck. It makes Harry’s heart happily flutter an awful amount. ”I mean, I will. Ha. Well. We’ll do whatever you want, yeah, course.”

”But do you want to, though?” 

Louis looks up at him in the mirror. Fuck those eyelashes. Like still, they need to calm the fuck down, it’s offensive. 

”Yeah,” he says, and that’s all Harry honestly needed. Louis pats his bum instead. ”Fuck yeah I do. Get a shirt on, love, or I won’t be able to keep my hands off you.”

Harry’s brain screams at him he must be his, it does, but it can wait. 

”It’s in my locker,” Harry tells him and picks up his gross, drippy shirt from the floor and Louis lets him out of the bathroom, follows him to the locker all until he’s got a new one on. 

Harry’s got about fifteen minutes remaining so he grabs his lunchbox from the fridge and they make it out the backdoor, back to the dumpster, where it kind of almost all began. 

”So, I’ll text you,” Louis assures as he walks off. ”Two more hours, right?”

”Two more hours,” Harry confirms, waving him off like it’s his husband and he’s leaving for the sea. 

Woah. Imagine that. But like imagine it without the harrowingly sad twist that he’s going to war or whatever. Well. Maybe let’s not imagine that either. _Uuuugh marriage._

”Sick.” Louis smiles like sunshine. ”Can’t wait.”

Harry sighs when he rounds the corner, and it comes out sounding all dreamy. He’s still imagining the husband-scenario for just a moment too long to not be painful. 

He goes to sit down on the container and immediately flinches, tightens up before he sinks down properly with a hiss. Right so, yeah, sitting will be difficult for the rest of the day, that’s fine. That’s absolutely fine. 

He’ll save the details for Liam for tonight. Or no details, probably. He still might have broken a few laws but he still kind of doesn’t care at all. For now he’ll have to devour his lunch in record speed. 

He looks at his phone and, oh. All his notifications are from Louis, but it’s not from now. They’re all a minute or two before his break somehow, because his phone is always on no vibration when he’s working, and he honestly never found the space to look at it during the break, did he?

louis:  
 _”you’ll probably see this after”_  
 _”(because you’re such a good and lawful boy aren’t you)”_  
 _”but I’m just about to go spill tea on you bc I need to get you alone right now”_  
 _”so I hope you don’t mind yorkshire and please forgive me I’m sorry blah blah”_  
 _”so unless you hate me now .....”_  
 _”love, please do come to my shop .. when we’re done over here obvi ;)”_  
 _”aaaand… action ”_

Harry realises too late the speech bubble indicating Louis’ typing, and then he’s suddenly sent the address followed by a little sunglasses-emoji. 

Alright. Alright, so, he’s fucking insane. 

And Harry might just be fucking in love with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> someone I follow recently said how people post less smut in this fandom as of late for fear of being judged - but smut is a key way to communicate learning and to discover. seeing that made me feel much more confident this was needed. on one hand, I think they jump very quick into such a trusting matter, and on another hand, well I’m pretty demisexual so I’ll always think that but also: both are educated, and I wanted to show it by incorporating a term such as SSC. I’m not the most educated and I want to add that I think I got this term from a youtuber called stevie, who makes great content regarding these topics, primarily for wlw relations. I really recommend her (or arielle scarcella if you prefer, or watts the safeword for gay men, or uppercasechase1 for trans men, or stef sanjati for trans women) for LGBTQ+ sex ed and BDSM knowledge! Don’t be ashamed about being curious, and don’t be ashamed if you aren’t. All the love to you alllllll and we got one chapter to go.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> things culminate.

The tattoo parlor isn’t hard to find. It was right up a street just two down from the supermarket which Harry just never looked twice at. 

It feels kind of like he’s just found out elfs were living among him this whole time, or some other fantasy creature, right out in the tree by his bedroom window or something. 

There’s a gorgeous red mat on the floor, is the first thing he notices. It smells like weed and smoke, is the next, and then it just smells like incense, like they’re currently burning and wafting through the air. And then he sees beautiful flash sheets on the walls, and then he sees the beautiful art in front of that. 

”Hey,” Louis greets, something so blindingly happy in his eyes. Harry almost sheds a tear from the secondhand-happiness. ”You made it.”

He hugs him tight and Harry hugs him tighter. ”Course I did, babe.” He kind of smells like the incense when he buries his nose into the crook of his neck. He’s not complaining. 

”Not that I doubted you,” Louis murmurs when he pulls back and holds him by his arms. ”Cliff would have been devastated. He’s out back with Zayn, wanna say hi?”

Harry suddenly has extreme flashbacks of being jealous of a certain tattoo partner called Zaynie and he sure can piece two and two together. He masks it with the excitement for his favourite good boy. ”Sure, yeah. Yes. Show me the good pup.”

Louis leads the way through a drape with clinking beads on it and suddenly they’re in a small room with even more art on the walls, shelves and boxes and a table with wheels and what might be an actual massage table in the middle. This is where an insanely attractive, slender and caramel-skinned man sits. 

”Yo, Zayn, this is Harry,” Louis announces and Zayn looks up from his phone, eyes the colour of chocolate with gold speckles. ”Be polite.”

Harry feels insanely shy under the attention of such a handsome creature. Not that he has anything on the creature next to him, mind you, but then at the same time, that just means there’s two ridiculously handsome creatures way too close for Harry to be completely at ease right now. He’s so gay. 

”Hey, Coffee Boy,” Zayn greets with his heavily tattooed hand outstretched, and Harry kind of turns into a giant question mark when he takes it in his. ”We meet again.”

He turns even more into a question mark. ”We’ve met?”

Louis takes a loud step closer, like he’s about to put an end to an argument that doesn’t exist. ”Don’t you mean _at last_ , Zaynie dearest?” he pipes in, a meaning tone to his voice. 

Zayn grins at him. It’s hard to tell where his pupils ends and his chocolate-mousse-dessert-eyes begin. ”Oh.” He looks back to Harry and he’s still firmly holding his hand. ”You don’t know.”

He speaks in an even heavier accent, all the more Yorkshire. He can’t believe he never came to such an amazing northern duo for tattoos before, and he’d like to mentally slap his past self, please and thanks. 

”Know what?” Harry asks, brows furrowed. Clifford bumps his leg with his nose and he gratefully takes his hand back to scratch his head. ”Hey, precious, there you are.”

Zayn and Louis are having a hectic argument with just their eyes. ”Well,” Zayn starts, making Louis widen his eyes at him. ”We met once, didn’t we. I was with Louis and got an ice coffee and that.”

Harry’s half-busy giving all of his love to Clifford. ”Oh?” he prompts, sinks to a crouch to cuddle him properly. ”You guys get the same order?”

”Well uh, no.” Zayn glances at Louis. ”Lou like, doesn’t drink coffee?”

Harry has to stop. Promptly. What the fuck. 

He looks up, which is bad because he’s on his knees and everything feels extremely weird from that angle. ”Sorry?”

Zayn’s back to grinning. Louis’ strangling him with his eyes. ”Don’t,” he hisses, and Zayn grins more. 

They could be brothers. They should be. They’d be fighting over Legos and who took the last cookie from the forbidden jar in heavy accents and hilarious glares. 

”Lou only drinks tea,” Zayn spurs on, still in a drawl. Harry is not at all piecing two and two together anymore. ”But he likes running for my order, for some reason, has been for the past week or summat.”

”Zayn,” Louis warns, ”that’s enough.”

”Don’t know what it is he likes so much about that shop in particular either if I’m honest,” Zayn says like nothing, looking at Harry. ”We got another one just around the corner, but like, he just insists, says he drinks his tea at home too so can he please take my disgusting coffee order for me, then doesn’t come back for a while.”

Louis has his head in his hands. Harry has his heart in his throat. It’s planning an escape again. And escape into Louis’ fucking hands because it’s _his_ , his to keep and oh my god, he literally only came to _talk to Harry_. That’s what he just said. He almost can’t believe it, but that’s what he said. 

”I think he’s seeing someone there,” Zayn adds much helpfully when no one says anything.

”Yeah, man,” Louis blurts out as he momentarily raises his face up, just a little bit flustered, ”we got that, Zayn. _Noted_.”

Zayn looks at Harry again, eyes big and honest. ”I think it’s you, because he keeps talking about Harry the coffee boy. And your name is Harry, and you are the coffee boy.”

That, just makes Louis laugh. 

Harry has to laugh too, because this is ridiculous, or hilarious. Or just absolutely wonderful. 

Louis is a tea person, so much that he has to have it before he can even leave the house. And still. Still he forces Zayn to let him take his order because he saw Harry once when they were there and then he wanted to talk to him. 

Ridiculous, yeah. Ridiculous. 

Ridiculous how much _love_ Harry feels for him right this moment. 

”So the coffee was an excuse to talk to me?” Harry has to ask, because he’s never letting this go. He’ll pester Louis with it for ages because no one’s ever done something so stupidly sweet to him. ”Really?”

”Can everyone just,” Louis flails his arms, ” _calm_? Yeah, alright, cool.” He smears his hands over his face like a stressed dad and both Harry and Zayn share a giggle. ”Can we just, take this outside? Yeah? I’m not gonna have Zayn bully me about this for the next three years.”

”Then I’ll be the one doing it,” Harry grins and Zayn hoots him in approval. Louis just rolls his eyes and moves the drape aside for him to step back out. 

They walk outside and Harry’s still smiling. Louis stops opposite him and gives him a look like, class 3 warning, no survivors. ”Yeah, so funny.” 

”You have a crush on me,” Harry smiles and Louis fakes an offended expression. Harry pokes his chest. ”You do!”

Louis swats his hand away. ”Can I _say_ something?” Harry puts his wild hands down his pockets and bites down the smile. Louis scoffs. ”So, I get there with my mate one day, right? Didn’t take the one shop literally right next to us that day because we’d just picked up ink from the post office, that’s all, complete random fate bullshit thing. Anyway, he’s having his gross coffee, like he does, for some ungodly reason and I see a cute boy working the machines. Wanted to talk to him but never got the chance to. And I’m not going to have my tea made by a stranger - no offense, mind you - and I’m also not going to start drinking coffee. So.”

Harry smiles. ”So.”

”So, I told Zayn the next day I’d take his order. Didn’t tell him where I was going or whatnot. Cliff got a little walk out of it anyway. Well, I get there and it’s still that blonde girl at the register, still not the cute boy. He was still in the back, just my bad luck.” He toys with the hem of Harry’s short sleeve. ”I know you saw me though. You were looking.”

”Course I were,” Harry murmurs, and Louis finally breaks into a smile. ”I saw you everytime. Was devastated you didn’t talk to me.”

”Well, had to keep trying then. Then finally found a time that seemed to have you up by the front, and the rest, is history.”

”A couple sexual innuendos later…” Harry sighs. 

”Don’t know how I did that,” Louis laughs. ”To be honest. You bring it out of me. And the name? Fucking _Tommo_ , haven’t been called that since _grade school_.”

”Why not just give me your real one?” Harry snickers. 

Louis shrugs. ”Fun. Element of surprise. Didn’t want you lot to call it out and someone would ask why I ordered a coffee.” He clarifies: ”Anyone who knows me know I do tea. Strictly. If I ever have anything else I’m probably dying or the apocalypse is near.”

Harry purses his lips to think. ”And your… chicken sandwiches?”

”Protein.” Harry blurts out a laugh. ”Yeah, strong boy and that. Nah, I dunno. I needed lunch, why are you judging?”

”I’m not!” Harry narrows his eyes and tilts his head. ”Then how do you know about cardiac diseases?”

” _Cardiovascular!_ ” Louis exclaims with his head thrown back in mock-frustration. He looks back at Harry with the fondest of smiles. ”I wanted to get into med school for a while,” he explains softly, and what the fuck. _What the fuck._ ”Deadass. Just to look proper and posh, to be fair. My dad’s a doctor. Ridiculous. So then I just figured, fuck it, I’ll use this moderate book-smart knowledge and be a disgrace and also a tattooer. I also considered sex worker, you know, ’cause I’m already gay and all that sinful shit, like I figured I’d be one of them phone operators because I think I’m quite good with talking sometimes and it would be a laugh to see dad’s reaction. But it was a short-lived dream, because I don’t really care to get gross middle-aged men off. Stuck to this. But I’ve got the facts. Ask me why your pupils can dilate when you’re getting tattooed.”

Harry snorts like a horse because he’s just so fucking baffled by all of this information, but anyway. ”Do share, why can they?”

”Adrenaline.” Louis taps his temple, putting emphasis on the _smartness_ that comes with such a statement. ”Your body’s reacting to the pain and getting you into fight or flight, making your vision better to be able to run, or knock someone out, should the mood call for it.” He shrugs again. ”Or, you just have a pain kink. I don’t know about half your dirty little secrets.”

Harry hums, eyes still narrowed. He rolls back on the heels of his feet and Louis watches him with suspicion for a silent moment. 

”Look, everything I’ve said is real,” he urges. ”Very real, ehm. I don’t usually feel I have to or, want to, put this same effort into someone usually, but- The only thing I lied about was drinking coffee, let’s put it like that. Because that’s just, plain disgusting. Ugh.” Then he holds his hand out to reassure him, speaks in a sarcastically concerned voice. ”I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me.”

Harry breaks out in a smile. He wraps his arms around his neck and kisses his surprised face. 

He feels like sunshine. 

Louis’ looking at him with raised brows when he pulls back. Expectantly. ”Nope,” Harry smirks, and Louis rolls his eyes. 

”You menace.” He starts playing with his shirt again, and Harry just. Loves when he toys with his clothes, like, it’s just as if he can’t keep his hands from touching him, which is very much relatable. ”What can I do? Scream from rooftops? Walk a thousand miles?”

”Actually, remember that complicated story about how you wrap cocks?” Louis’ head snaps up fast enough to break the sound barrier. ”I’d like to have that meal cooked.”

Louis opens his mouth, then stops. He furrows his brow. ”My chicken dish?” he asks in disbelief. 

Harry nods contently. ”I want a table set and a meal cooked and I want you to have a date with me in your apartment.” He finds Louis’ hand and touch his fingers feather-light. ”Deal?”

Louis’ still dazzled. But then he links their fingers and grins. ”Deal. Yeah, let’s have that.”

”Good.” Harry nods. ”I’m glad.”

Louis’ still looking at him like what-the-fuck but smiling softly despite it. ”Me too?” He chuckles, and drops their still held hands by their side. ”Ahem, well. Shall we go back inside? You can check my art portfolio if you want. Just some messy scribbles and doodles and that, like genuinely, it’s just stick figures. But.”

Harry wants nothing else than get a glimpse of what goes on in this person’s head. ”I do, my darling,” he murmurs, and Louis squeezes his hand with the sweetest, most genuine smile before he leads him back in through the door. 

”And then you can tell me some more about yourself for once, please,” he adds, and Harry just cannot stop grinning. 

Sometimes. Sometimes, it just feels like they really, really, really like each other. That’s quite the beautiful thing. 

 

 

”So they had this shop together all along, just like around the corner, basically.” Harry puts another popcorn in his mouth. ”It’s mad.”

They’re watching Legally Blonde, because it was Harry’s time to pick the movie, and it is _only_ one of the best movies ever made. Ryan Gosling’s The Notebook or even Crazy Stupid Love abs have absolutely nothing on an awesome lawyer grad gal proving everyone wrong. 

He’s _only_ watched it like four times already. 

”Wait, so.” Liam holds a hand up to halt him in his bewildered re-telling of today’s events. Which he still sort of can’t believe himself, for your information. (Especially not the coffee cup doodles with rainbows on them in Louis’ art portfolio.) ”This is up the street from the grocery store?”

”Yeah, couple streets,” Harry supposes. He hadn’t exactly been mindful enough to count them. ”Why?”

Liam stops and considers something. Hardcore frowning is going on. Cogwheels are turning. 

”Is the other guy called…” He arches an almost _pained_ eyebrow. ”Zayn?”

Harry stops mid-popcorn-drop-off. ”How did you know?”

Liam’s eyes shoot wide open. ”Oh my god.” He sets the bowl down from off his lap. ”Oh, my god.”

And then he just stares into the distance with a haunted expression. 

Harry stares at him with furrowed brows, in turn, waiting for him to explain. 

Liam sits up properly. ”Oh,” he puts his hands on his knees, ”blimey.”

” _Liam_ ,” Harry exclaims and throws a popcorn at him, making him snap his head towards him. ” _What?_ ”

”I know him,” Liam tells him with eyebrows up in his hairline. ”He did my last tattoo, do you remember?” He points frantically to the rose on his hand, still needing to be moisturized with gross pharmacy-ointments. ”That one!”

Harry’s mouth falls open. That beautiful artwork is by (beautiful) Zayn. He was there with them all along. ”No. Fuckin’. Way.”

”Yeah,” Liam breathes. ”And now you’re dating his mate. Can’t bloody believe this.”

”Oh, we’re not dating.” Harry settles back into the sofa and resumes putting popcorn on his landingboard-tongue. ”I guess, I mean. We might. Might start.”

Liam hums. He settles back as well. 

Something else is on his mind though. ”So Zayn’s pretty fit, huh?”

”Like a _deity_ ,” Harry groans and Liam laughs, slightly relieved, slightly confused. Harry turns to him and Liam stops with his hand down the bowl. ”Why you say that, though?”

Liam suddenly smushes a full hand of popcorn into his mouth and shrugs with a little noncommittal, muffled sound. 

Huh. Déjà vu to when Harry did that when asked about Louis. Okay. Alright. 

Harry snorts and slaps his arm, and Liam laughs as he tries to chew all the popcorn down. It’s another conversation for another time. Zayn probably makes anyone fall in love with him and Harry sure won’t be the first one to judge. He won’t even be the last. 

”Alright then,” he grins, and Liam’s almost blushing. Aww, look at that, favourite straight friend. 

Or, maybe not so much straight. Doesn’t really matter to be fair. 

Who needs labels anyway?

 

 

When Harry walks into Louis’ lounge the next friday evening, there’s a bigass plastic box thing planted across the coffee table. Upon closer inspection, it’s one of those football games, those when there’s little players on sticks and you turn the rods to make them kick the ball. It’s a very retro kind at that, sure to give Harry all kinds of 90’s kid nostalgia. 

Remember when? Remember when he said he was getting it for his little siblings. 

That little _shit_.

”I cannot believe you,” he exclaims, and Louis looks at it with pride as if it’s his first-born. ”You got it for _yourself_.”

”Hey now, doesn’t mean it’s still not for me siblings.” He hesitates, then shrugs. ”Nah, you’re right. All for me.” He sees Harry’s appalled expression. ”They wouldn’t appreciate the beauty of it! Not like us dinosaurs do, eh?”

Harry scoffs, but it’s with heavy endearment. ”Right. We’re seniors.”

He walks over and twists one of the rods. A line of players curl towards a ball that’s not even currently on the pitch. Clifford’s sitting on the sofa, head tilted to the side from the sound. 

”Interested in a game?” Louis asks through a smile Harry has to mimic. 

”If you reckon you can beat me.”

He arches an impressed eyebrow and hums. ”Feisty. And what are we playing for?” Louis picks up the little white ball and rolls it between his fingers. ”Strip poker without the poker?”

Harry gapes. ”How crude,” he exclaims. 

Then he reaches for the ball, snatches it from Louis’ hand and grins when it bounces down on the pitch and Louis stares at him with happy surprise.

”I’m in,” he decides, and Louis chuckles. 

”Atta boy.”

 

What ends up happening is, they’re both extremely competitive. Both extremely good as well.

By the close end of it Louis is leading by two but somehow gets over-confident enough Harry manages to score, and suddenly Harry’s in his boxers, one sock and a hair tie (a sympathy point given in the overly confident state), and suddenly, he scores on Louis in just his boxers. 

”Fucking hell,” he exclaims, and he looks up at Harry with absolute sin on his face. Absolute, proper sin. ”You did it, Curly.”

Harry’s doing a victory dance to hide his true emotions. ”I did it.”

Louis picks up the ball from the bowl behind his goalie and grins. ”Had my doubts, but shit, you’re one man of many talents, aren’t you now?” Louis shakes his head despite himself, tutting. ”How do you suppose we settle this then?”

Harry calms his dance down (kind of a strange rain dance with very jiggly fists) and puts his hands on his hips. ”I believe we agreed on a strip.”

”I do believe we did, yeah.” Louis walks up to him, keeping the eye contact, and brushes his fingers over his shoulders. It never fails to make him shiver. ”Don’t play fair though, do I?”

Harry narrows his eyes at him, trying to contain himself. Any moment would work fine for him to throw himself all over him, honestly, he’s got a free schedule. ”Don’t suppose you do.” 

”It’s funner if we’re even,” Louis adds, and his eyes drift down his body. It stops at his boxers, really lingers, drifts to his lone sock, then back up. 

Harry pauses. Then he takes his hair tie off his wrist and drops it on the floor. 

Louis hums in amusement. ”Sexy.”

”Thanks.” He toes his sock off and kicks it in the general direction his other one went in. ”Sex appeal at its finest.”

”That is, that is.” Louis bites his lip and slips his fingertips past the waistband of the front of Harry’s boxers. He cannot believe himself when he only sighs and doesn’t also melt into an actual puddle because that’s about as good as he feels. ”How about that dinner, now?”

Harry might press a little against his light touch. He nods to Louis’ crotch. ”What about those _boxers_ , now?”

”I’ll take them off,” Louis assures lightly, slips his hand back up, ”and, put an apron on.” 

Harry pouts and Louis pinches his nipple, making him flinch. 

”Cheer up, love.” He winks and starts into the kitchen. ”I’ll get a cock wrapped one way or another.”

Deep. Massive. Sigh!

It’s fine though, because Louis’ a really passionate chef in the end. Or maybe Harry’s just really passionate about how his bare, thick bum looks with a little bow over it from having an apron tied around his narrow waist. It’s hard to tell. 

It’s also fine because chicken stuffed with mozzarella wrapped in parma ham is kinda very delicious. Harry got to make the mash potatoes, also somehow delicious, so much so that Louis declared them the greatest team and that they should make sunday roasts together forever. 

It’s even more fine when Louis asks Harry to settle back on the sofa and nuzzles up between his thighs. 

His stubble burns his skin, makes him hiss and gasp, and when there’s more than just spit running down them Harry gets to show off his blowjob skills when he’s allowed to actually touch and move around. 

”I also got dessert,” says Louis when Harry thinks his bones have dissolved a while later. ”Because, I’m not a monster.”

And then they eat cheesecake and watch Netflix and Harry doesn’t have an ounce of shame in his body when he gets an extra slice. 

They apparently make the mutual decision for Harry to sleep over because some way or another Louis is getting up two hours into Netflix and chill (cuddles and forehead kisses) to brush his teeth and is offering Harry a new spare toothbrush, and maybe he can just keep it in his bathroom or whatever, right, because maybe he’ll come over some more, and then he won’t have to worry about his own. Harry sits stunned in the sofa for a few moments longer than what is probably considered normal before he can get up and follow him. 

They laugh at each other in the mirror when they brush their teeth, bumping elbows, Louis making funny faces at him until he’s dripping toothpaste down his chin and Harry makes funny noises in return until he almost chokes from laughing too much. They make it into the bedroom and Louis lends him a big band T-shirt to sleep in, which Harry secretly brings up to his face to smell with a little smile before he slips it over his head (and then he just not-so-secretly keeps smelling it throughout the night). 

They fit into the bed like it was made for them and after establishing Harry’s little spoon, Louis murmurs some excuses and sweet nothings into his hair as he scoots closer and positions himself properly, arm along his and hand hooked around his shoulder. It’s like they just don’t want to stop touching each other. And it’s all so normal now, like it was supposed to be like that. 

And Harry for once doesn’t feel a single ounce of stress when he falls asleep wrapped up in warmth. 

 

 

”Are you nervous?”

Harry scowls at Zayn. ”Course not.”

”Harry’s had a bunch of painful tattoos done already, Zaynie,” Louis chastises, ”he’s not a virgin.”

Zayn shrugs. He digs out a cigarette from a scuffed package before slipping it back into the pocket of his denim jacket. ”It’s perfectly natural.”

”But if I admit I’m nervous it gets _worse_ ,” Harry whines, and Louis laughs warmly. 

He’s looking at the blue stencil of a rose on his arm over and over in the full-body mirror by the wall, getting used to the idea of it being there. He loves it and he’s absolutely ecstatic, but places like elbows are… generally not the most pleasant. 

Zayn nudges him when he walks out, and when he meets his dark eyes he grins. ”Remember you’re in good hands.”

Harry does. He consciously is reminding himself of just that.

And when Zayn has returned from his ritual smoke, Harry lies back down to have his good, and safe, and talented hands holding him still to let the tattoo needle graze his skin. It’s not as bad as anticipated; rarely is. He just chews determinedly on his bubblegum and talks wildly about whatever comes to mind when he doesn’t have to sit perfectly still and is afraid he’ll cock the whole thing up if he as much as breathes. 

Louis’ equally good hand is holding his own comfortingly as Zayn tattoos his rose design onto his arm, helpfully filling in to his conversation when he runs out of creativity, always making sure he’s fine. 

He has a tendency to both throw him out of balance and be able to patch him back up afterwards. Harry thinks he can really second the statement, although now, he’s the one solely anchoring him. 

Daggers and roses also go quite well together too. But. It’s not that deep. 

 

 

”How do you know if you’re in love?” asks Liam one night. 

They’re about to fall asleep on the sofa and Liam is currently working perfectly as Harry’s headrest. His arms may be all muscly and hard but Harry still enjoys it. He’s a softie puppy, really. Always and forever. 

And Liam has also only just started coming out of that strange, secretive bubble of a strange, secretive crush, so that Harry knows for a fact he’s been seeing Zayn. He also knows for a fact he’s who he’s having in mind when he asks these things, tipsy or half-asleep. 

Harry’s been seeing Louis too. Quite a bit. 

Uhm, a lot. 

Like, Liam has a night job, after all. And Harry has… 

Harry has a hot as fuck boyfriend to sleep over with when those nights get too lonely. 

Harry also has a LP record collection slowly growing larger, a gym membership he’s trying to start making better use of, cutlery that gets left at home in his and Liam’s own drawers for when he has Zayn over, for favour of Harry and Louis going random Ikea-shopping for his apartment instead. 

Harry has something going for him, for once. So that’s kinda cool. 

What tabloids and internet sites always tells Harry is, another person shouldn’t be your home. They shouldn’t be where you measure your self-worth, because people can leave. They might. Right? But, like. Find a good person, yeah? Find someone and get inspired to be the best you can be, and then together, you can sort of make a place _feel_ like home. 

That makes sense, he supposes. Sure. All he knows is it’s been a long time since he’s been so over the moon happy. Sometimes he’ll go minding his own business and going about his day and suddenly realises he can’t stop smiling. He talks about his day or something random from his thoughts and somebody listens and has something to share too. Sometimes Louis texts him a super random _hi_ or a _I miss you_ and hearts like he was walking around thinking about him just like Harry was and it still gives Harry feelings like the sun just came out inside his chest. 

Sparkles and rainbows. Sprinkles on top. No but literally, how does biology explain these sparkly warm feelings? 

”If it’s right,” Harry says slowly, stops to yawn. His eyes are closed and already he’s feeling half-asleep. Liam’s breaths are slow beside him, so that he’s not sure he’s even conscious long enough to hear the answer. ”It just kinda happens.”

It just kinda happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that's it that's the end! thank you for sticking around, past me would have been so stoked. current me is like, omgash hope it didn't have giant mistakes because I never, really, read it through? uhhh so please tell me if you've found something odd, and thank you for reading!
> 
> Edit: my girlfriend just reminded me the origin of this story. it goes like: in the first few days of us talking she showed me how her friend had gotten them coffee with one mug reading ”best master” and ”best doggo”. this turned into me making her a doodle of harry falling over because a shirtless louis came in with his curlie doggie, something or another about how his cup should read ”master” and harry picturing unholy things, thinking himself experiencing some innocent innuendos but then when louis got back to clifford he was like wtf did he take the hint or ?? and then, coffee shop au was in the making some month later! I felt like this was a story worth telling. because it’s just so funny. some trivia for the loyal ones, and now, I sign off. x


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